


The Last Archangel: First Born

by inukagome15



Series: The Last Archangel [13]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Asexual Character, Crossover, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Redemption, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 18:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 48,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4635096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inukagome15/pseuds/inukagome15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He just wanted to rest. But he was alive now, and he had no idea why. He had no purpose, no path to take. His brother had told him they had free will, the choice to do what they wished. But he was aimless. Who was he, if not Michael?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Year

**Author's Note:**

> Really, this story wasn't even planned until someone suggested a Harry Potter AU with Michael. And after some thinking, I figured it was a great idea. Now we have over 20,000 words of Michael in the Harry Potter universe.  
> I'm not super sure that it is going to have 7 chapters, but I'm just going to put that number up and edit as I go.
> 
> In any case, I'm really hoping that you guys enjoy this. Michael isn't exactly a character I have a lot of experience in writing, and he's been through a lot since we've seen him on the show.
> 
> As a note, there _are_ spoilers for plot developments in  Redemption, so if you haven't read that, I'd recommend reading it first. Or if you don't mind spoilers and just want a Michael-centric story, keep on reading!

Wayne Hopkins was a quiet, dark-skinned, unassuming boy with a mother who was a witch and a father who was a Muggle. His parents, Eleanor and Alan, had met at a bar twelve years ago and hit it off, his mother revealing her magic to his father about two months into them dating. His father had taken it remarkably well and hadn’t even blinked when his son had also begun exhibiting accidental magic several months after being born. This was largely due to the troubles the couple had while trying to conceive – Wayne’s mother was forever referring to him fondly as her little miracle.

Wayne’s mother worked comfortably as a private med-witch, and his father had a safe job as the head of a well-established grocery store in their town.

By the time Wayne was on his way to turning eleven, it was clear that he would be heading to Hogwarts. His mother had been a Ravenclaw in her time, during which He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had inflicted his reign of terror on Magical England. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, had been born in 1991, a month before Wayne, who quite happily claimed a late August birthday and slid into the same year as the legendary vanquisher of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Wayne was quite excited to go to Hogwarts and explore his magical abilities. As the only child of the Hopkins, loneliness had been one of Wayne’s friends, and he had always wanted others to spend time with and talk to. They lived in a small town that had a small magical community and no children his age, so Hogwarts would be his opportunity to make friends.

“Be safe,” his mother told him on the platform of nine and three-quarters, kissing his cheek. She was an average-sized woman with tan-colored skin and light eyes. “It doesn’t matter what house you’re sorted into, as long as you’re happy.”

Wayne nodded, smiling distractingly as Dane, his new kneazle/cat familiar meowed angrily in his cage. “I will, Mum.”

“I still can’t believe this is hidden here,” his father said, a tall, dark-skinned man with wire-frame glasses. “And no one ever notices?”

“No,” his mother said fondly, rustling Wayne’s tousled black hair once before letting her hand drop. “The train’s departing soon. Keep in touch, all right?”

“Yes, Mum,” Wayne said, smiling at her. “I’ll let you know which house I’ve been sorted in.”

“I do like purple,” his father mused.

“That’s not a color, I’m afraid,” his mother said, “though Dumbledore’s likely to wear something similar, I think.”

Keeping a tight grip on Dane’s cage, Wayne gave his parents one last hug before boarding the train. It didn’t take him long to find an empty compartment, as his mum had made sure to arrive early enough that they wouldn’t have to worry about being pressed for time.

Letting Dane out of his cage, all too amused at the disgusted flick of the tail the kneazle mixture gave him, Wayne sat next to the window and struggled to keep his excitement down, focusing on the noise and bustle of the station.

It was enough to drown out the silence in his head that had been his lifelong companion.

* * *

Hogwarts was magnificent. That was just about all Wayne could register as the boats all the first years were sitting in began to make their way across the lake. He’d heard stories from his mum about the great squid that lived in its waters, but there was no sign of it at the moment.

In his boat were Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, and Goyle. He knew the reputation of the three boys’ families, but he hadn’t felt comfortable enough to tell them no when they came into his compartment on the train halfway through the ride. It ended up being a relatively good idea, as Malfoy had been all too happy to tell Wayne the dirty details about Harry Potter and the blood traitors he was being chummy with.

Malfoy hadn’t seemed too bothered with Wayne’s half-blood status – not that he’d even asked considering the Hopkins family wasn’t ever in the limelight. Wayne had left it at “I’m Wayne Hopkins” and let Malfoy make all the assumptions he wanted.

He wouldn’t likely be in the same house as Malfoy anyway. Malfoy was a shoe-in for Slytherin, and Wayne…wasn’t. His mom had debated between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw numerous times, with his father suggesting Gryffindor simply because his favorite colors were red and gold.

Wayne didn’t really have a preference, since he’d be fine regardless of what house the Hat sorted him into.

Professor McGonagall was just as stern as his mother had warned him she would be, but it was in that stern, sort of motherly way.

Then came the Great Hall, and Wayne was  _stunned_. He heard a girl whisper something about the ceiling being charmed to look like the outside sky, but all he could think about was how amazing it was with the candles and other students chatting.

It was like coming home, the sound of voices in the background filling a hole that he’d lived with all his life. He missed it when McGonagall called for silence and announced how the Sorting would be done.

Wayne swallowed nervously, shifting his weight from leg to leg as he waited for his name to be called.

When it was, with a brisk “Hopkins, Wayne,” Wayne wiped his sweaty hands on his robes and sat down on the chair, letting the Hat come down over his eyes.

He startled upon hearing the Hat’s voice in his head, heart skipping a beat.  _No preference, I see?_

 _No,_  Wayne thought back.

_You have an intelligent mind, Mr. Hopkins. And bravery. But you’re also loyal. Where to put you?_

_What you think is best._

_Is that so? Then…better be…_  The sound of the Hat’s voice screaming “HUFFLEPUFF” to the rest of the Hall had Wayne jerking in his seat, and then McGonagall took the Hat away and Wayne was staggering to the cheering Hufflepuff table, smiling at the other beaming faces.

The rest of the Sorting passed in a sort of blur, except for the announcement of Harry Potter and the way the nervous looking boy was sorted after several anticipatory minutes into Gryffindor to much acclaim.

“Like there was any doubt,” a boy who’d introduced himself as Ernie Macmillan said, applauding just as wildly as the rest of the Hall save for Slytherin.

Wayne hummed in acknowledgement, one eye on the empty plates. The Sorting was almost over…

The food was just as good as his mother had always described it, and by the end of it Wayne was only too happy to be shown to the dormitory and where he would be sleeping with the rest of the first years.

Sleep came easily, even with the excitement that classes would start the next day.

It didn’t even startle Wayne that his mind thought there should be  _singing_  before he fell asleep.

* * *

The first week of classes was hectic, and Wayne and his new friends/dorm mates wondered around in circles several times before finding the right classrooms. The moving staircases didn’t really help either as Zacharias was too fond of grumbling.

Wayne liked Ernie and Justin best, as the two were quiet and friendly. Zacharias was rather snobby and full of himself, going so far as to critique Wayne’s writing skills over his shoulder. Wayne had the rather odd sensation of wanting to punch him. Or stab him.

When the weekend dawned, bright and sunny and perfect for spending outdoors, they did so. They didn’t take their homework, wanting to enjoy the sunshine and shade by the lake. Thankfully Zacharias didn’t come, too busy snoring away in his bed.

“It’s only going to get harder, you know,” Ernie said, lying several feet away from Wayne. “We’re just firsties.”

“They’ll build us up to it,” Wayne said, glancing back at the castle. There was something pulling at him, though he didn’t know what.

“Doubtlessly,” Justin agreed, head buried in his arms. “Anyone find the kitchens yet? People keep saying they’re grand, if you know where they are.”

“We’ve only been here a week,” Ernie said. “I expect we’ll find them soon enough.”

“My mum didn’t,” Wayne said, shaking his head as he struggled to push away that pull. It was getting bloody annoying.

“Some people don’t,” Ernie agreed. “I know my parents didn’t.”

They fell into a sleepy silence that was only broken when Justin popped up like a doll in a box and said, “Fancy going exploring? We won’t get lost next week!”

Though reluctant to leave the sun, Wayne agreed. Exploring would either put that pull out of his mind or help him figure out where it was coming from.

* * *

It wasn’t until Wayne started to explore the grounds on another nice weekend that he figured out the pull came from within the Forbidden Forest. And there was no way he was going in there just on the off chance that he’d figure out what it was. It could be a monster for all he knew.

“I wouldn’t go in if I were you,” a pretentious voice drawled from behind him.

Wayne turned to face Malfoy, surprised that the other would even bother to seek him out given they were in different houses. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Looked rather like you were,” Malfoy said.

“Hm.” Wayne didn’t say anything else on the subject. “Enjoying classes? Slytherins are with the Gryffindors, aren’t they?”

“Sadly.” Malfoy heaved a put-on sigh. “Potter is as insufferable as ever.”

“Like you?” Wayne said automatically. He recoiled a second later, realizing what he’d said. “Not like that!”

“No, you did mean it like that.” Malfoy scowled at him. “I’m nothing like that self-righteous prick!”

“You’re different,” Wayne said charitably, shifting subtly. That pull tugged at his mind. “Certainly. Did you want something?”

Malfoy pushed his nose into the air, silvery-blond hair glinting in the sun. “As it so happens, I did. I’ve heard you’ve got a knack with Charms and Transfigurations.”

Defense, too, but Quirrell was rather inept, and Wayne hadn’t done any wand work so far. “What if I do?”

“I propose a study group,” Malfoy said. “I’ll help you with Potions.”

As Snape wasn’t pleasant to anyone except his House, Wayne could use all the help he could get. “My friends will join us.”

“So will mine.” Malfoy raised an eyebrow, looking so much like the photos of his father that Wayne had an eerie sense of déjà vu. “Then we have a deal?”

Wayne had absolutely no clue why Malfoy would even want to associate with him, but he wouldn’t turn down a study group to help with Potions. “Sounds great.”

The informal agreement had Malfoy wrinkling his nose in distaste, but he didn’t leave, instead sticking with Wayne and telling him all about the flying lesson they had and how much trouble Potter was in for  _flying_  without Hooch present.

* * *

Ernie and Justin were less than pleased with Wayne upon finding out that they had a study group with Malfoy and his friends. This could have been because Wayne didn’t let them know who would be joining them until Malfoy actually showed up, but thankfully they didn’t say anything until it was over.

“Malfoy, really?” Ernie asked incredulously once they were back in their Common Room. “You do know who he is, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Wayne said, petting a demanding Dane. “Which is why it’s a good thing to be friendly with him.”

“With  _Malfoy_?” Justin’s nose wrinkled. “He’ll turn around and stab you in the back first chance he gets.”

“I could, too,” Wayne pointed out, not knowing where the thought came from, only that it was  _true_  and hurt him. He paused, pursing his lips, trying to catalogue the feeling and failing. “We’re not our parents,” he settled on saying. “Besides, he’s helpful.”

Ernie made a face. “Fine, I’ll give him that. But Potions sucks enough without a Slytherin helping us.”

“He knows the tricks of the trade,” Wayne pointed out. “You don’t have to stay. But he’s not a bad sort, really. He can’t help who his parents are.”

Ernie stared hard at him. “Sometimes you say the oddest things.”

“The obvious, you mean?”

“Not the obvious, no. But do you have to be so… _adult-like_  about it?”

Wayne furrowed his brow in confusion. “I’m not sure what you mean?”

“Adults don’t know when they adult,” Zacharias said pompously from nowhere. “It’s a  _thing_.”

Ernie whirled to squint at Zacharias. “Where did  _you_  come from? And how long have you been listening?”

“It’s not like your conversation was private,” Zacharias pointed out. “Besides, Hopkins’s right. Best to have someone like Malfoy on your good side. You never know when it’s a good thing to have a pureblood in your pocket, even if it  _is_  someone like Malfoy.”

“And you’d know?” Ernie raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“It’s basic politics.” Zacharias sniffed. “You should do some reading.”

“Yeah, no. I think I’ll stick with being a kid and leave the politics to the adults and Wayne.”

“Hey.” Wayne sounded affronted.

“It’s a good thing,” Ernie assured him.

“It didn’t sound like a good thing,” Justin said dubiously.

“Just don’t turn into a Granger,” Zacharias advised Wayne. “She’s too bossy for her own good. Even the Ravenclaws don’t get along with her.”

Wayne distantly remembered a Hermione Granger asking about a toad on the Hogwarts Express and also being sorted into Gryffindor. She hadn’t seemed too bossy then, but then one never knew.

“How would you know that?” Ernie asked.

“I listen,” Zacharias said. “Gossip’s interesting if you know where to go. Besides, it’s hard to miss her studying in the library, surrounded by piles of books.” He looked at Wayne. “Think Malfoy would mind if I joined in?”

It took Wayne a moment to realize Zacharias was asking about the study group. “I don’t think he cares.”

“Good.” Zacharias sounded pleased. “I’ve got History of Magic notes.”

“You mean you actually stay awake?” Wayne asked incredulously. As far as he knew, no one managed to stay awake in Binn’s class. For a ghost, the man was a boring professor.

“I know someone who does.” Zacharias shrugged.

“More power to them, I suppose,” Ernie muttered, disbelieving.

“Not like it’s useful,” Justin said. “Goblin rebellions are all he ever talks about, and we’ve got more in history than rebellions by  _goblins_.”

As Wayne hadn’t bothered to read the history book, he really couldn’t say whether Binns was following the curriculum or just focusing on a particular part of history at the expense of everything else. Either way, it was boring and sleep-inducing, and he hadn’t ever thought he’d fall asleep in class here. “I’m sure Malfoy will be pleased to have proper notes,” he said instead.

“‘Pleased’ is one word for it,” Ernie said skeptically.

“Come off Malfoy,” Justin said pleadingly. “How about a game of Exploding Snap?”

Even though the last time they’d played had left Ernie with singed eyebrows and Wayne with a slight burn on his hands, they all readily agreed. It would be a nice break from their schoolwork.

* * *

The weeks flew by quickly. The study group continued meeting despite Wayne’s doubts, and Malfoy would occasionally meet up with him to complain about one thing or another or advise him about certain things.

At one point Wayne finally gave into his curiosity and bluntly asked, “Is there a reason you always talk to me? I thought you’d have friends in your own House.”

Malfoy stared at him uncomfortably for several moments, something akin to hurt in his eyes. “You were polite on the train,” he said finally, voice stiff. “If you’d rather I leave, I can do that.”

“It’s not that I don’t like you,” Wayne said quickly, wincing inwardly. “I just thought you’d rather spend your time with someone else.”

“It’s my decision,” Malfoy told him.

That had been the end of that conversation, and Wayne had feared that he’d slipped onto Malfoy’s bad side, but when they met again for studying and nothing seemed to have changed, he breathed a sigh of relief.

It wasn’t that Hufflepuffs and Slytherins didn’t make friends. The enmity was primarily between Gryffindor and Slytherin, though Wayne had seen some first years from the two Houses together in discreet places where no one could see. Slytherins made friends in Ravenclaw as well.

It was just…it was  _Malfoy_. And Malfoy was in a different league from many other students given who his parents were. It was like being friends with Harry Potter, and Wayne had only ever seen him from a distance and always with a red-haired boy who could only be a Weasley.

The fact that Malfoy had specifically sought  _him_  out of all of Hufflepuff was touching, though Wayne knew he would still have to be careful. His mum had already told him to be wary, but to treasure the friendship as long as it lasted because Malfoy was still a boy.

And there wasn’t much the elder Malfoy could do unless he interfered via the school board.

Zacharias became less distant as the weeks passed, but he was still snobby and didn’t quite fit into the group Ernie, Justin, and Wayne had made. They did make space for him when they could, but usually they didn’t bother. They were Hufflepuffs, but loyalty only extended so far when it came to someone who cursed them out when they tried to wake him or kept trying to play teacher’s pet.

Wayne continued to feel that pulling sensation, which never abated. He hadn’t told his parents about it, and Dane had only blinked slowly at him when Wayne confided in him about it. Then again, there was only so much Dane could do, even as a kneazle mix.

The pull definitely came from within the Forbidden Forest, but there was no way Wayne was going in there unless he prepared for it. Knowing how to levitate things only went so far, and it wouldn’t protect him against the dangers that were in there.

Time passed in this way, and before he knew it, it was All Hallows’ Eve and there were pumpkins and skeleton heads everywhere. And even more frights from Peeve, who seemed all too gleeful to be even more chaotic than usual during Halloween.

Wayne had to admit he was curious about how Hogwarts did October 31st beyond the amazing decorations. All he could pry out of the older students was that there were a lot of sweets involved.

And there were. The feast that night consisted mainly of sweets, and there was no way Wayne was telling his parents about this, though they were probably aware anyway. Or at least his mum was.

Then there was the troll.

Wayne was confused all of a second about whether this was part of the festivities before the Hall broke out into terrified screaming.

Flinching, Wayne shrunk down, clamping his hands over his ears. It didn’t seem to do anything, because the screaming was  _inside_  him. It was terrified, pained, and tearing something inside of him. That pull tugged sharply at the back of his mind, nearly drowned out by the screaming.

It wasn’t until Ernie tugged at his arm that Wayne realized that they were clearing out of the Hall. He followed after his friends, dazed, head still ringing with those agonized screams.

“Are you all right?” Ernie asked him anxiously once they were inside the Common Room. “What happened?”

“I…” Wayne shook his head, struggling to focus. There was a name mixed in with the screaming, spoken in a strange language and yet still understood. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t do too well with loud noises?” Justin asked sympathetically. “My granddad – he can’t stand loud noises. It sends him back to the war.”

Wayne didn’t think it was that, but he didn’t have an explanation. “Yeah…” He shook his head again, relieved the screaming was fading now. As was the name. He probably hadn’t heard it right. “There was a troll?” He forced himself to sound normal.

“Apparently,” Ernie said. “It’s strange. Trolls aren’t supposed to get in.”

“Unless someone let it in?” Justin suggested in a low voice.

Ernie shot him a skeptical look. “Come off it. Who’d let a bloody  _troll_  inside Hogwarts? It’s practically suicide with the professors!”

Wayne closed his eyes, rubbing the heels of his hands into them and trying to tune out the voices of his friends, letting them sink to the background as a comforting hum.

“Hey, is he all right?” a girl’s voice asked. “He looks rather white.”

“Doesn’t do well with loud noises,” Ernie answered. “Chocolate should help. They’re bringing the feast into the common rooms, aren’t they?”

“In a little bit,” the girl said, “but I’ve got some chocolate here if you think it’ll help.”

“Best thing for frights,” Ernie assured. A few seconds later his hand came down on Wayne’s shoulder and he was saying, “Here, Wayne. Eat this.”

Taking the chocolate, Wayne pulled his hands away from his face to see that Hannah had been the one to give him her chocolate. He smiled feebly at her, taking a small bite of the chocolate a moment later.

“Bit of a nasty shock, wasn’t it?” Hannah’s smile was nervous. “I thought for a second there that Professor Quirrell was just having us on.”

“It’s still possible,” Justin said dubiously. “But it’s a rather awful prank. The twins wouldn’t even pull this.”

Which was saying a lot, considering that the twins had made off with all the toilet seats in Hogwarts at the beginning of October. No one had been able to prove anything, but the twins had looked far too cheerful for the few days it took to replace all the seats.

“We’ll find out tomorrow,” Wayne said, taking another bite of the chocolate. “Thanks,” he said to Hannah.

“It’s no problem.” Hannah waved it off. “Have you got any chocolate frog cards? I’m trying to collect them, but I keep collecting repeats. I’ve got ten of Dumbledore.”

And that was how Hannah Abbot joined their little group, her friend Susan Bones following soon after.

* * *

It was all over the castle the next day that  _Harry Potter_  had defeated a  _troll_. The rumors started off sedate, announcing that Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had shut a troll in the bathroom with Hermione Granger and then decided to finish it off after all, but they finished with the most outlandish tale of how Harry Potter had led the troll on a merry dance through the castle before finally pushing it off the Astronomy Tower.

Whatever the truth was, Potter could be seen with Weasley and Granger now, the three of them a tight-knit group. Given what Wayne had seen of how Weasley and Granger interacted, he was rather confused as to how that even worked.

Malfoy didn’t want to talk about the event at all, refusing to even acknowledge that Potter had done anything in favor of blasting Dumbledore for having failed to consider that the troll had been supposed to be in the  _dungeons_ , and where was the Slytherin Common Room? The dungeons!

Wayne had heard a lot on Dumbledore’s failures since then, though thankfully Malfoy hadn’t done it in the library during their study group sessions.

The rest of the fall term passed quietly, and winter break was welcomed by everybody. Wayne was looking forward to going home and not thinking about classes or homework or being politely friendly to Malfoy and hoping not to get stabbed in the back.

What was more, at home he wouldn’t have to deal with that constant  _pull_.

Ever since the troll, his nights had been restless, filled with whispers, some screams, and pain. At one point he’d woken up frozen to the bone, and he’d had to sit in front of the fire to warm up. His friends had been puzzled upon seeing him sleeping on the carpet in front of the fireplace, and Wayne had given them the excuse of not being able to sleep.

No, he was going home, and he was leaving that frustrating pull and the nightmares behind. He was sure it had something to do about being in Hogwarts.

All he had to do was put some distance between him and Hogwarts. It should solve the problem.

It had to. Because the alternative was that he was losing his mind, and Wayne didn’t even want to  _consider_  that.

Thankfully, the further away he traveled from Hogwarts, the more distant the pull became, until he couldn’t feel it at all. It was a relief to know that it  _had_  been Hogwarts and not just his own mind. But that still brought up the problem as to  _why_. What was in the Forbidden Forest that affected him so?

He couldn’t talk to his parents about this. His father wouldn’t understand, and his mother would likely feed him nothing but potions and contact Madame Pomfrey to put him on a regime. Not only did Wayne absolutely hate drinking potions, he didn’t want to be  _that kid_. The kid on the potions regime because something went wrong in his brain.

So Wayne said nothing to his parents about the pull, but he did tell them everything else about Hogwarts, including how amazing it was. His father was entranced about the lessons Wayne took, and he kept asking questions until his mother pulled him away and told him to start cooking.

The break was everything he’d hoped for, his nights peaceful until Wayne could go to bed and not fear the dreams he would have.

* * *

_“ Co – Co—” Static crackle before the word resounded loud and clear. “Commander!”_

_“ —Host—”_

_“ —a war.”_

_A surge of utter wrath, holy light that burned everything it touched with its sheer potency, and the resounding screams of injured soldiers following **nir**  orders._

_“ —attacked by demons, corrupted and tainted human souls.” Static crackle. “—created a realm known as  **Hell**.”_

_Sibling attacking sibling. Those no longer following the righteous path marred by ice and darkness, wings shrouded in black, their song violent and angry._

_Ne faced another, the other burning bright and cold in fury and desperation. And ne did what ne had to, Casting nem **out**._

_The scene – one of burning wings and screaming and the world shaking around them all – faded out to one of utter cold and **silence**._

_Except for the shouting. “ You couldn’t give up! You couldn’t lay down your sword! You  **had**  to be the good  **soldier**! Now look where we are— ” Another crackle of static, followed by a sharp piercing pain through his entire body. “Because of  **you**! Can you  **hear**  them, sibling?  **Can**  you? Or is it  **silent**  in your head?”_

_It was utterly silent. There was no sense of anyone else. Not even the furious being currently sharing the space with him._

_“ You understand now, don’t you? This is what you sentenced me to. What you’ve sentenced us  **both**  to because you couldn’t stand to defy our Parent.”_

_He couldn’t say anything. Was incapable of speaking beyond the resounding shock and horror resonating through him and stealing all words. Hadn’t he been the good son? Hadn’t he done what he was supposed to? So why?_

_Why was he **alone**?_

_“ **ANSWER ME, MICHAEL**! ”_

The name – this time utterly clear of static – tore through him with the furious scream, alongside a sudden, piercing pain that startled him awake with a loud gasp.

Trembling, his sheets wrapped around him, breath coming in short, panicky gasps, Wayne stared at the ceiling, heart thundering in his ears.

There was an achy pain in his body, and every single muscle was as taut as a wire, like something was pulling and  _pulling_. Drawing in a breath through his nose, his jaw clenched tightly against the pain spiraling through him. The scream echoed in his ears, filled with a desperation and anger and grief that he could scarcely comprehend but thought he should.

Squirming out of his blankets, Wayne ran a hand over his face and into his hair, tugging the curls lightly. He could feel the cold sweat on his skin and the minute trembles in his limbs now that he was calming down.

The dream itself was fading, except for those three words that had jolted him into awareness. Those were crystal clear.

What wasn’t was why he was dreaming about whatever that was. Was it something wizards went through once they started going to Hogwarts? Did all his friends feel a pulling sensation to something in the Forbidden Forest? Was it a grand secret that everyone had to figure out for themselves?

Snorting, Wayne berated himself for even thinking of something so ridiculous. There was no way such a thing would actually  _stay_  secret. Someone would’ve eventually said something. There would’ve been rumors.

Taking a deep breath and tensing and relaxing every single one of his muscles despite the ache still resounding through him, Wayne resolved to spend a  _lot_  of time in the library when he went back.

He wasn’t a Gryffindor, but that didn’t mean he was cowardly. It just meant he would prepare himself before doing anything foolhardy.

Even if this was something that no Gryffindor would ever attempt unless they were suicidal.

* * *

His parents noticed something was up during the last few days of break, not that Wayne told them beyond saying he wasn’t sleeping well. It was part of the truth at any rate, which was all Wayne would say whenever Dane fixed him with a disapproving look.

He hadn’t had another vivid dream like that again, but his body wouldn’t stop hurting, and that aching sense of loneliness and silence was worse than before. Going back to Hogwarts would mean returning to that pulling sensation to who-knew-where, but it also meant getting answers.

And Wayne desperately needed answers.

He kept his intentions to himself even as he met his friends on the train back to Hogwarts. There was nothing he could do to hide the shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep, but his friends figured that he’d spent a lot of late nights playing games or doing homework and ribbed him mercilessly for being such a goody two-shoes.

“At least I don’t have anything left,” Wayne retorted after the third time Ernie teased him about it. “I had the last few days completely free of schoolwork.”

“Bugger schoolwork,” Ernie said cheerfully. “How was your break?”

The pull came back the closer they drew to Hogwarts, but that didn’t matter at all once they were actually inside the castle, because there was glorious  _noise_. It wasn’t quite what he needed – but what  _did_  he need? – but it was enough for now.

Once classes went back into full swing and Quidditch games picked up again, Wayne spent as much time in the library as he could, checking out books and practicing spells. To ward off suspicion, he kept up his other extracurricular activities. He slept as little as possible, fearing the dreams that would come.

The last one he’d had had been a particularly vivid one of a black-haired woman shrouded in utter darkness, with numerous offshoots of darkness spreading from her. He had no idea why the sight of her had sent chills down his spine, but it had. She’d looked completely ordinary but for something  _off_ about her.

Given Scotland’s extraordinarily rainy weather in the spring, they didn’t spend a lot of time outside. The few days that were sunny and pleasant, Wayne disappeared into the library, as the pull into the Forbidden Forest was a lot stronger outside.

Even with his precautions, his friends noticed that something was wrong. Heck,  _Malfoy_  noticed, shooting him worried looks every study session they had. And Wayne had heard Malfoy actually talking to Justin about it, even though Justin was a Muggle-born and Malfoy was as prejudiced as Purebloods came. That had been an issue during the study sessions, but Ernie hadn’t let any of Malfoy’s nonsense fly, and Susan had a rather terrifying blank stare that shut Malfoy up quickly enough.

Wayne figured she’d inherited it from her aunt.

* * *

It came to a head the morning Malfoy came raving to Wayne about a  _dragon_  in Hagrid’s hut.

Naturally, Wayne stared rather blearily at him until realizing that Malfoy was completely serious and that he should probably do something about this before Malfoy got into trouble. “And?” he prompted, cutting Malfoy off in the middle of his ranting and receiving a vehement glare for it. Tired as he was, he just didn’t care.

“And?” Malfoy sputtered indignantly. “Potter was there! And his friends! They know about it – what that oaf is doing in his  _wooden hut_.”

“Not very smart,” Wayne agreed, eyes going sideways as a dust mote caught his attention. It took him a moment to realize his attention had slid, and then he looked back at Malfoy, only to see the other staring at him worriedly.

“You’ve not been sleeping,” Malfoy said stiffly.

“I sleep.” Wayne suppressed a yawn, neck muscles clenching in protest briefly before relaxing. A muscle in his leg twitched, and he discreetly rubbed it out with an achy hand.

“Yes, which is why you’ve been smearing dirt under your eyes.” The words were acerbic. “And why it looks like you took a bath in flour.”

Wayne frowned. “That seems rather unsanitary.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Of course that’s what you settled on. Never mind the flour, Hopkins. If you’ve not been sleeping, you should go see Pomfrey.”

“I’ve been sleeping.” Wayne resisted the urge to rub his eyes. “I’ve just been busy.”

“Yes, you’re turning into Granger.” Malfoy leaned in. “You do realize that having your nose stuck in a book all hours of the day is not attractive?”

“And here I was thinking that I was going to attract all the bookworms.”

“I’m sure they love you.” Malfoy drew back, eyes narrowing. “If you don’t want to say, fine. I’ll go deal with the dragon myself.”

By the time Wayne realized what Malfoy had just said – too caught up in seeing how Malfoy’s robes billowed dramatically behind him as he swept out of the library – it was too late to stop him.

Well…it wasn’t like Malfoy would do anything too crazy with a dragon involved, right?

* * *

The morning that Gryffindor suddenly found itself in last place in the running for the House Cup and Malfoy skulked around with a rather sulky look on his face told Wayne that he probably should have tried to chase after Malfoy to say something before he did something stupid. Like earn the ire of Potter, Granger, and Weasley.

Although those three had enough trouble with the rest of the school being absolutely furious with them. Longbottom was also in trouble, but he did well enough with shrinking into the background.

“I have detention with those four!” Malfoy snapped at Wayne that day. “It’s tonight.”

“Maybe you’ll make friends,” Ernie offered unsympathetically, shamelessly eavesdropping.

“Don’t be stupid, Macmillan.” Malfoy’s nostrils flared. “This is utterly ridiculous. If my father knew of this—”

“Doesn’t he?” Ernie asked. “As governor and all…” He trailed off meaningfully, raising his eyebrows.

Malfoy looked shifty. “They don’t know everything.”

Ernie made an unconvinced sound, eyebrows raised.

“Good luck?” Wayne finally said, smiling sheepishly.

Malfoy sniffed. “I don’t need luck. Now  _those_  four.” He gestured dramatically. “They do.” Without another word, he stalked off, robes doing that billowing thing again that had Wayne seriously thinking he must be taking lessons from Snape.

“I wonder if he gets lessons from Snape,” Ernie said, staring after him. “I can’t do that.”

Justin poked his head from around a bookshelf. “Is he gone? Oh, thank God.” He plopped himself down, pulling over the book Wayne had been trying to read. “This is kind of advanced. What are you reading so far ahead for?”

“Stuff,” Wayne answered vaguely, elbow nudging against the stack of other books he’d finished perusing. “Thought I’d see what it’s like to be an actual bookworm that lives in the books.”

Carefully pushing the book away from Wayne, Justin nodded. “You’re definitely succeeding. How about you try and see what it’s like being a bed bug?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a bed bug!” Ernie said excitedly.

“Are you into biting?” Hannah asked, leaning against the side of the table. “Because that’s what bed bugs do. They bite.”

“But they live in beds,” Ernie said, gesturing wildly and almost smacking Wayne in the face.

“How about a dust mouse?” Hannah suggested, ignoring him. “They sound cute.”

“Ew,” Justin and Ernie said simultaneously.

“They get vacuumed up,” Wayne said drowsily, his head resting on his arms.

There was a short pause before Ernie said, “What’s a vacuum?”

“Seriously?” Justin sounded incredulous. “You don’t have vacuum cleaners?”

“I told you before: Muggle things don’t work around magic. They just burn out.”

“A radio is a Muggle thing. How come that works?”

Whatever Ernie would have said in response to that Wayne never heard. He’d drifted off into a fuzzy white world with drifting shadows and blinding figures of light.

* * *

_Agonized screaming filled the space. Energy furled through the area, brushing past him and warming him slightly with the remnants of the heat they contained, though it quickly froze with the sheer cold radiating from the one who had lived here longest._

_“ Please, no, no, no, sto—”_

_“ You locked us in here. You  **gave**  them that information.”_

_Static fizzle, and then, “ —sibling, mercy—”_

_“ Who showed me mercy? You locked me in here and left, turning your backs on me. Why should I show mercy to you when you denied me the same?”_

_“ No—” The word broke off into raw screaming again, punctuated by sobs and periods of stricken silence when the pain grew too much, fragments of Grace and light fizzling around the Cage and dissipating into nothingness, joining the energy funneling around them._

_His brother pleaded with him to end it, stop the pain, but he did nothing. It would stop in time, as it had with him. His brother would just have to wait until the other worked out his anger._

_“ Michael, sibling, please—”_

_“ Parent, Parent, someone—”_

_“ **MICHAEL**! ”_

_Eventually, the other grew tired of the noise. “ So fond of your voice, aren’t you, little sibling? I wonder…what’s a Messenger without a voice? Let’s find out, shall we?”_

_The screams silenced permanently, but there was no quieting the anguish and pain shrieking through every portion of Grace ripped out._

_Then…suddenly_

_the Cage_

_sh_

_att_

_ered_

* * *

With a muffled whimper, Wayne jerked awake, body curled in tightly. There was no pain this time, but the sudden shock of having had his entire  _world_  shatter into pieces around him still had him paralyzed in fear.

Shoving his face into his pillow, he struggled to calm his breathing, focusing on the sound to drown out those awful,  _awful_  screams that had followed him into the waking world. Such raw, pained screams he’d never heard before. They were the screams of one who had been pushed far past his breaking point.

Minutes later, once Wayne had calmed his breathing and his heart wasn’t pounding, he forced himself to remember everything he could about the dreams he’d had.

He was someone called Michael in the dreams. And Michael was a bloody bastard.

No, backtrack.

Michael was a bloody bastard, but he was a bastard who was beyond exhausted. Like Wayne was feeling right now.

The other people in the dreams were family of a sort. There had been enough of the word “sibling” for Wayne to get that message, but he hadn’t heard any names. Anytime someone did say a name other than Michael’s, there was a static fizzle that drowned it out.

What kind of family tortured each other like that?  _Let_  their siblings be tortured like that if they had the power to stop it?

It was just…cruel.

Kicking off his covers, Wayne turned onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. He’d fallen asleep in the library earlier, and he’d practically sleepwalked through the rest of the day before falling in bed and passing out immediately. Someone else must have pulled the covers over him.

Wayne would be embarrassed about it if he wasn’t still so bloody exhausted.

Something else was happening tonight…

Ah, Malfoy’s detention with the Gryffindors. Wayne wondered how that was going.

Doubtlessly he’d find out in the morning.

* * *

“The  _Forbidden Forest_! Unicorns! Monsters  _drinking their blood_!” Malfoy looked wild-eyed, his usually perfectly coiffed blond hair in disarray. “I can’t  _believe_  them! My father  _is_  going to hear about this!”

Wayne was the only one present today, since he’d decided to go out and spend time in the sun. “You mean detention was in the Forbidden Forest?” It was the only thing he was absolutely certain Malfoy had said. Everything else didn’t make any sense.

“Yes!” Malfoy said indignantly. “There are werewolves in there! And ghoulish monsters drinking  _unicorn blood_!”

“It wasn’t a full moon last night,” Wayne pointed out, quite sensibly he thought, but Malfoy didn’t seem to share the same opinion judging by the nasty look he shot him. He quickly added, “Did you really see a ghoul?”

It took Malfoy a moment before he admitted, grudgingly, “No. It just looked like one. Wearing a cloak and everything… I left Potter there.” He didn’t seem proud of himself for doing so.

As Wayne hadn’t heard anything about the Boy-Who-Lived biting it, he figured that Potter was perfectly all right and Malfoy was just feeling guilty for having run off without a single thought for the other boy.

“I didn’t know ghouls wore clothes,” Wayne said instead. “I always more imagined them naked.”

Malfoy stared at him, face disgusted. “I didn’t need to imagine that.” Glancing away, he caught sight of something he evidently didn’t agree with and made another face. “That’s my cue, Hopkins.”

Leaving as he usually did, but this time without the dramatic billowing of his cloak, Malfoy was gone before Wayne could do anything. It took him a moment to see just what had made Malfoy leave when he caught sight of the Gryffindor trio that had been on detention with Malfoy. None of them looked particularly happy, and Potter seemed a bit peaky.

For a second, Wayne was unbelievably jealous of them, for having been able to go inside the Forbidden Forest on a school-sanctioned outing. It just wasn’t fair, because he’d been here for ages fearing going inside because it was the  _Forbidden Forest_ , and here they were able to go in because of something involving unicorns.

A brief gust of wind touched Wayne’s cheeks. Blinking, he shook his head and mentally slapped himself. The only reason they’d gone into the forest was because of detention. That wasn’t anything to be jealous of, especially since they’d lost their Houses fifty points each.

Hufflepuff would not have been pleased with Wayne if he’d been out there with Malfoy trying to catch a dragon and stop it from burning down Hagrid’s wooden hut. Or whatever Malfoy had been doing. Probably trying to get Potter in trouble and landing in it himself because he hadn’t thought things through.

Several minutes later, his friends showed up, lacking any school supplies and incentive to study.

“I thought I saw Malfoy walking off in a huff,” Ernie said, sitting down next to Wayne. “Anything up?”

“Unicorns and ghouls,” Wayne answered, grinning at the confused expressions his friends put on. “Just being Malfoy.”

“Naturally,” Susan said. “I still can’t get over you being friends with him.”

“I wouldn’t call us friends. More like people who know each other and try to get along?”

“Call it what it is,” Ernie said. “You’re friends with a side of poking going on. Did you sleep last night?”

“Yes,” Wayne said quite truthfully, just not adding how  _much_  he’d slept.

His friends shot him skeptical looks but thankfully didn’t say anything else.

“You do know that you have to sleep if you want to grow, right?” Hannah asked.

“I’m fine being a shrimp,” Wayne said blandly. “I like myself for who I am.”

“What, all five feet of you?” Ernie raised his eyebrows, smirking.

“Every single inch,” Wayne answered perfectly seriously.

“The absolutely frightening thing is that I’ve no idea whether you’re serious,” Ernie said, half-wonderingly.

“No, he’s definitely serious,” Susan said. She held out a bag. “Have a bean?”

Several seconds later, Wayne regretted taking her up on the offer, as he’d been the unfortunate recipient of a cement-flavored bean.

* * *

Finals were coming up, and while Wayne had been doing a lot of extra studying on the side, he wasn’t too worried about his grades. The study sessions had done a great deal to help him prepare, and he was almost certain that he would get at least an EE in Potions, even with Snape’s biased grading.

He was fortunate not to be Potter, as Snape apparently loathed him just on principle.

Unfortunately, as finals drew closer, Wayne was filled with a sense of urgent dread and impending doom that he could find no source for. It was as if the end of the world was nigh, and he was the only person wandering around with any sense of it.

Most of the other students were concerned with finals, and Wayne had seen Granger every single time he went into the library, surrounded by piles of books. She’d also been seen haranguing her friends to study nonstop, and Wayne was only thankful that none of his friends were even remotely like that.

In fact, they were all rather busy with revising, so much so that they didn’t even ask Wayne whether he was getting any sleep. Which he was now, needing to be sure that he could remember everything he was learning. If there was a healthy way to retain information that didn’t mean sleeping and subjecting himself to strange nightmares and dreams, then Wayne would have done it.

As the end of the term approached, Wayne felt more and more indecisive and nervous about his course of action. He was only eleven, and he shouldn’t be doing this, wizard or no. He could deal with a few nightmares and an odd pulling sensation, especially if it meant he’d still be alive in the end.

So maybe he shouldn’t do it. Maybe he should just let it be and stay alive.

It would be the smart decision.

And Wayne wasn’t a fool.

* * *

_“Hold, brother.”_

_“Why? You’re not going to do it.”_

_How could he? There was no point to it anymore. “No. I won’t.”_

_“Then step aside.”_

_Why didn’t he understand? “I can’t do that.”_

_“Then you would have him destroy everything?”_

_His little brother stood in front of him, glowing brightly with the power of their Father’s Grace flowing through him, so bright that he could scarcely stand to look upon him. He had the power – he could do **something**  about it that no one else could._

_He had more of a choice now. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t kill his brother. There was no point to it anymore. Their Father didn’t care, and he was just…done with it all. He wanted to close his eyes and go to sleep. He wanted desperately to rest, wanted to turn and lean on someone who could take care of it all for him. He was tired of making the decisions and messing up._

_He’d killed so many through his thoughtless decisions. He didn’t want more death._

_So he said as much. “…this is **my** choice.” He had turned his back to his brother, trusting in him not to do anything insane._

_But as he finished speaking, there was a sharp pain in the center of his Grace, deep in his core, fracturing and spiraling out to splinter the rest of his being into pieces. He thought he heard someone whisper “And thank you, brother,” but he wasn’t certain._

_His world shattered into painful darkness, everything he was burning into nothingness._

_There was something like warmth, touching and cradling nir gently. It was familiar and desperately needed. A question of sort was posed, and ne answered negatively, wanting nothing more than to rest in the warmth after being trapped in the cold for so long._

_The warmth didn’t subside; it was utterly peaceful._

_There was no warning when something pulled nir out, entirely unwilling but helpless to resist. A soft whisper pushed words into nem, words ne didn’t quite catch, but ne didn’t care, wanting too desperately to return to that warmth and sense of peace._

_Dark – it was dark – and then it was burning bright and nir surroundings rushed past nem, solidifying to become trees zooming past him. Until, abruptly, ne was at the base of a giant one glowing with an ephemeral light._

_And ne_

_was_

_Falling_

* * *

He jerked awake, limbs shaking and breath coming too fast. There was no coherent thought beyond a desperate need to be  _somewhere_.

He stumbled out of his bed, putting on his shoes and clothes and taking his wand. Then he slipped out silently, using the Disillusionment Charm that he had learned weeks before to travel through the castle without alerting anyone.

He didn’t feel the temperature outside, every atom of his being focused on that pull and where he had to go. It was insistent in a way that it had never been before, and he could barely walk fast enough, casting a quick  _Lumos_  to light up his surroundings as he walked through the trees into the forest.

It wasn’t so bad at first, the trees spaced far enough apart so as not to be suffocating, and the ground free of obstructions. But the deeper he went, the closer the trees were and the less space there was to walk. There was rustling around him, the sounds of animals more dangerous than he being alerted to his presence and tracking him through the trees.

But he just didn’t…care. He was too focused on following that internal compass that led to him to where he needed to be.

“Wayne. Wayne!” someone shouted at him, grabbing his arm and shaking him.

“Keep your voice down!” another person hissed.

It took him a moment, and then his eyes focused on the faces of his friends, worried and pale in the light of his wand.

“What…” His voice was slow, sounding dreamy even to his ears.

“I think he’s drugged,” Justin said, staring at him worriedly from behind Ernie.

“What the bloody hell are you doing in the forest?” Ernie demanded, still clutching at his arm.

“I don’t…” He turned away, back to where he needed to go. “There’s somewhere I have to be.”

“In the Forbidden Forest?” Ernie sounded frightened. “Come on, Wayne. Let’s go back, and you can go to the Hospital Wing.”

“No.” He pulled his arm out of Ernie’s grip, taking a step back. “I need…”

“We should’ve told a professor,” Justin said frantically, eyes not leaving him.

“When? We barely kept up as it is!”

His voice was cold – almost unrecognizable – as he said, “Follow if you must. But stay out of this.”

“What—”

“Wayne—”

Not listening any further, he turned back to the path and continued walking. Only this time his friends followed closely behind him, worried muttering subsiding into frightened silence.

He wasn’t sure how long it took him, but he could tell that he was getting closer. Finally, he stumbled out into a small clearing of sorts where the trees didn’t grow quite so closely together. This was in part due to the gigantic base of the tree taking up most of the space, its roots sprawling out from around the base.

It was absolutely enormous, and it almost seemed to be glowing faintly, though it gave off no illumination.

There were hissing noises around him, along with chattering and clacking. The sound of hooves rang in the distance, and the wind rustled the branches of the giant tree before him.

This…was it. Where he needed to be.

As if in a dream, he walked forward.

“What the—”

“Bloody hell –  _Wayne_! What are you doing?”

The trunk was vast, so much bigger than anything he’d ever seen before, the pieces of bark bigger than his hands.

And, reaching out, his outstretched fingers touched the rough bark.

Instant  _fire_  rushed through his veins, filling him from the inside out and setting everything afire. He was burning from the inside out, light suffusing every cell and stimulating him with long-forgotten sensation.

And he…simply  _was_. Who he had always been and always would be.

The earth itself came to life under his feet, and he could feel the rotation of its axis, the interminable pull of gravity and its own inertia keeping it in a fixed orbit around the sun. He could feel the heat of the sun, so many miles away. Every single soul on the planet was a bright illumination in his vision until he pushed it back.

The singing of the universe was all around him, and he had  _missed_  hearing it. Had missed being able to hear this.

The rough sensation of bark under his fingers came to the forefront of his mind, and he carefully curled his fingers, intrigued with the way his Grace fit into this new vessel of his. It was a perfect fit, so unlike his last vessel, and it felt like part of him, not a suit he was wearing to make himself visible to mortal eyes.

He was on his knees before the tree, having slumped down sometime during the interim. Heaving in a shuddering breath, he covered his face with his hands, trying desperately to reacquaint his old memories and sense of self with who he had been only moments before.

Why was he here? Where was the Host? Desperately reaching out to Heaven yielded nothing, and he cringed back, not wanting to chance touching upon any of his siblings and forcing a conversation he wasn’t ready to have.

Wouldn’t ever be ready to have.

Gasping sounds from behind him brought his attention to the fact that Ernie and Justin were still behind him and hadn’t moved since he’d regained his Grace.

Lifting his face from his hands, he took a deep breath and opened his eyes, focusing his vision so that it was limited to the human spectrum. The leftover energy in his tree was too distracting otherwise, the light blindingly bright to anyone who could see it.

Standing, he turned to the friends he had made while human. They seemed fine, having closed their eyes reflexively when he’d unknowing initiated the process of reintegrating his Grace. Still, just to be sure, he asked, “Are you all right?”

They both flinched at the sound of his voice, despite how soft he had kept it.

“What the bloody hell, Wayne?” Justin’s voice cracked slightly, and he cracked his eyes open, widening them upon realizing that it was as dark as it had been before. “What just happened?”

Hesitating slightly, he considered what to say. They didn’t need to know what had happened. He could erase their memories, drop them back where they belonged, and leave. Go where no one would ever find him.

“You touched what you shouldn’t have,” a new voice said, startling the two boys. “This place was one of safe harbor for those who had none.”

Lips quirking, he met the centaur’s eyes, remaining exactly where he was. “That blessing will remain,” he said. “I simply reclaimed what has always been mine.”

The centaur looked piercingly at him; the rest of his herd remained hidden in the trees, silent. “You are not human.”

“No,” he said, ignoring the wide eyes of Ernie and Justin. “Will that be a problem?” He kept his tone purposely mild, only raising an eyebrow.

The centaur did hesitate now, apparently sensing that he’d just treaded where he shouldn’t have. “No. So long as you leave us in peace.”

“I have no wish to harm you.” He had no desire to do much of anything.

Shifting, the centaur glanced at a silent Ernie and Justin. “Then you will take the children with you?”

“I will.”

Stepping forward to stand between Ernie and Justin, he inclined his head at the centaur, raising his eyebrows. Then, with one sweep of his wings, he flew all three of them back to the empty Common Room, unsurprised when Ernie and Justin reeled back from him the moment they landed.

Ernie was ashen, eyes wide and betrayed. “Who are you? What have you done with Wayne?”

Tilting his head, he sounded his name out in his head, reluctant to associate himself with it given his earlier perceptions. But it was who he was. He would always be that, regardless of what he wished. “My name is Michael,” he said quietly, meeting Ernie’s eyes. “Wayne is…” He considered how he should explain this to a human, if he should even bother to explain it at all.

But Justin and Ernie had been his friends, and he did feel some affection for them, leftover from his time as a human. And the thought of tampering with their memories…left a sour taste in his mouth. Which was strange seeing as how he wouldn’t have thought twice before.

“I was Wayne,” Michael said finally, squaring his shoulders and tilting his chin up. “He was who I was before I remembered.”

“ _What_  are you?” Ernie demanded, panic underlying his words.

Michael opened his mouth to give the answer he would have before, then stopped. Was he even that anymore? He was still Michael, but was he anything more? He’d cast aside his responsibilities, laid down his sword and been killed for it.

He could sense no one of his family here, and it wasn’t like he was cut off from the Host as he had been in the Cage, locked inside his own head with no one but Lucifer for company. And they could only communicate verbally, their internal method of communication cut off thanks to the magic of the Cage.

There was no one to command here. There was no prophecy to fulfill. There was no one to kill. He wasn’t dead, resting in the warmth of his Father’s light. He was alive, and he was bewildered, exhausted, and ashamed.

“No one,” Michael said finally, voice soft. “I’m…nothing.” It was almost freeing in a sense to admit it, even as he felt even more lost at the admission. He had no purpose, nothing to work for. What was he supposed to do?

“What happened back there?” Ernie’s jaw had set with determination. “That’s – I’ve never heard of anything like that happening before. Were you possessing Wayne before? Was that why he’s been acting so weird lately?”

He didn’t have to explain himself to these children. He should just erase their memories and be done with it, leaving them and this place behind. He didn’t know where he’d go, but it would be somewhere he could be—

Not alone.  _No_.

Shivering slightly, Michael forced back the memories of utter isolation in the Cage. Lucifer had been very poor company indeed after a few centuries, and Michael had been unused to not hearing his siblings constantly talking, subsequently withdrawing more into himself as time passed.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” Michael said neutrally.

“Don’t you?” Ernie insisted, his stance and voice reminding Michael of someone else he’d faced an eternity ago. “You’re in our friend. We deserve to know what happened to him.”

“I  _was_  him,” Michael said resignedly, seeing that Ernie wasn’t going to let this go until he had answers. “Wayne is…me. Another facet of myself. One I can’t return to.”

“You said you’re Michael,” Justin spoke finally, frowning. “And you said you’re not human. My family – we’re not very religious – but I did learn something about the Bible. I know…Michael was an angel in it.”

He had been the first, the one his Father had entrusted the safety of his siblings to. And he had failed. “Not anymore,” he said wearily, looking away. “That’s not who I am.”

Justin inhaled sharply. “But you were? You were him. Michael, I mean. The – the archangel.”

“That’s someone important, I take it?” Ernie asked, glancing back at Justin.

“I don’t know much,” Justin said. “Just…Michael’s big. Always has been.”

“Not anymore,” Michael repeated, mild irritation creeping into his tone. Forcing his tone to that of utter neutrality, he said, “Are you done appeasing your curiosity?”

“You can’t bring Wayne back?” Justin asked.

“As I said before.” Michael closed his eyes, feeling out this body of his. It startled him that it felt so familiar, like a simple extension of his Grace, not something he had crammed himself into. That it hadn’t burnt to ashes in the reacquisition of his Grace was even more surprising.

There was just him in this body. Wayne had been him without his Grace and memories. A shadow of his true self.

It was impossible to go back, even if he were to tear his Grace out and Fall.

“So what now?” There was a faint tremble to Ernie’s words. “Are you just going to leave?”

Michael didn’t answer, eyes turning to the fire burning low in the mantel. In truth, he had no idea. His first instinct to wipe their memories and flee didn’t seem so attractive now, not with the realization that he had no idea what to do. There was no one to talk to – no one to turn to. He was alone, completely and  _utterly_  alone, for the first time in his existence.

“Michael?” Justin’s voice was soft, hesitant.

Looking back at the two children he had called friends while human, Michael turned his full attention to them for the first time since he’d remembered. There was still fear clinging to them, along with trepidation and confusion, but there was also…worry. For him. And affection of a sort, even though it was clouded by their other emotions.

Surprised, Michael took another second to confirm that he was indeed seeing what he had.

Even with the knowledge that he wasn’t Wayne Hopkins, these two children still cared for him. It was…comforting?

They had no reason to care for him, because he wasn’t who they had come to know during their time at Hogwarts. But they still did.

Michael’s thoughts turned back to another human who had fought so fiercely for humanity’s free will and their freedom to choose. He thought about a little brother who had thrown his lot in with the humans after pulling that same human out of the depths of Hell. He thought about another who had finally come back home only to turn everything around on its head.

And all for humanity.

Perhaps he could…stay. Just for now. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go.

“No,” Michael said finally, smiling slightly at the surprised expressions on their faces. “I’ll stay.”

“Really?” Ernie sounded surprised. “I would’ve thought you’d go off and do your own thing.”

“Not now.” Michael felt something resembling peace settle in his chest at this decision. He had a path of sort to follow, even if it was one of his own making.

“Even though you’re not human?”

“I can play at being human. I’ve been one for the last decade.” Michael let his posture soften, becoming more human. “It’s simple enough.”

“But you want to stay?” Justin sounded just slightly disbelieving.

To Michael’s own surprise, he found that he really did. Want to stay. This was something resembling a family, and there were no expectations to live up to. He could just…be. “Yes,” he answered simply, meeting their eyes with a gentle smile. Unless… “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, not really,” Justin said hastily, shaking his head. “But, er…”

“We do have to tell Hannah and Susan,” Ernie said. “They’ll know something’s up.”

“No one else,” Michael said, senses turning to the two girls sleeping in their beds. “I don’t need the attention.”

“Okay.” Ernie nodded, something like relief flooding through him. “We can do that in the morning. So long as you’re staying. Oh man…” He looked disbelieving now. “One of my best friends isn’t human. This is going to take some getting used to.”

“You think?” Justin said dryly, a small snort escaping him. He met Michael’s eyes again. “We can’t call you Michael.”

Was he really Michael if he didn’t have anything to go with it?

But he wasn’t Wayne Hopkins, except in body. And he wasn’t anyone else, so Michael it would have to be.

“Wayne is fine,” Michael said instead. “It was who I was.”

“Okay, great.” Ernie nodded again, seemed to realize he was sounding a bit like a broken record, and then added, “I don’t think I can sleep now, so how about a game of Exploding Snap? Or wizard chess?”

“I’ll take the cards,” Michael said. Playing chess reminded him too much of what he had done before, using his own siblings as pawns as players in a grander scheme that turned out to be all  _wrong_.

“I’ve got Gobstones,” Justin said, considering.

Michael glanced at his hands, thought of the strength he now possessed, and immediately pictured holes in the walls. “Cards would be safer,” he said, not elaborating despite Justin’s perturbed look.

“So safe that our eyebrows catch on fire?” Justin asked, incredulous.

“Definitely safer,” Michael said. He could take care of a little singed hair.

* * *

Come the morning, Susan and Hannah came into the Common Room to find that Michael, Ernie, and Justin had built a towering stack of Exploding Snap cards, and Justin was standing on Michael’s shoulders to carefully place another card on the top of the stack.

“Oh my God.” Hannah sounded stunned.

“I didn’t even know it was possible to build it that high,” Susan marveled. “They always explode.”

Michael’s lips twitched, and his fingers tightened slightly around Justin’s ankles as the other wavered unsteadily. It took virtually no effort for him to suspend the exploding magic in the cards so that the boys could build them up, and he had been getting irritated with continually having to grow back his hair.

Ernie and Justin didn’t seem to have noticed Michael’s involvement in the cards not exploding, and he wasn’t about to let them know either.

“It hasn’t exploded yet,” Ernie said, hair sticking up in the air from where he had been running it through with his fingers.

“Okay, let me down.” Justin bent down until he was crouching on Michael’s shoulders.

“How long have you been up?” Susan asked once Justin was standing next to Michael.

“Um…” Ernie squinted at the clock they had in their Common Room. “Since three, I think? Didn’t look at the clock when we were running out after Wayne.”

The girls turned to Michael, whose expression didn’t change.

“Did you have trouble sleeping again?” Susan asked worriedly.

“You could say that.” Michael shrugged, picked up a few different Exploding Snap cards, and then flicked them to the top of the pile, where they arranged themselves on top of the already standing cards.

“Seriously, no fair,” Ernie complained.

Hannah stared. “How did you do that?”

Justin opened his mouth, but he was cut off from saying anything by the startled exclamations coming from other Hufflepuffs who were getting out of bed. They all came to crowd around the Exploding Snap tower, marveling at the structure and how it managed to stay intact.

“That’s really something,” Zacharias said.

Michael gave him a sidelong look, unable to stop himself from seeing the resemblance between Zacharias and Zachariah. But Zacharias was still a child, and Zachariah had died before Michael had fallen into the Cage. “Thank you,” he said out loud. “Ernie and Justin did most of the work,” he added.

“Yeah, and we’re going outside right now,” Ernie said. “Got to enjoy that sunshine.”

Zacharias gave him a skeptical look. “It’s raining.”

Ernie turned to look at the windows, affecting a surprised look. “So it is. Guess we’ll just head to the library then. Coming?” he asked Hannah and Susan.

Michael deliberately didn’t meet their eyes, stepping back from the tower of Exploding Snap cards.

“Sure,” Hannah said, confusion radiating from her.

Before they left, Michael removed the enchantment on the cards that would make them explode without his supervision. That many cards would cause a rather devastating explosion, and he was in no mood to deal with the gruesome results.

They received some strange stares while walking through the corridors, and until Justin cursed and muttered something about still being in nightclothes that Michael realized what was wrong.

Well…it wasn’t like they had classes.

Once they were in the library and well away from any prying eyes, Michael made certain they wouldn’t be interrupted, putting his back to a bookshelf.

“So what’s going on?” Susan looked between them, bemused. “What did you mean when you went running out after Wayne?”

“I woke them up,” Michael said evenly, arms folded across his chest. He didn’t look at any of them.

“He wasn’t exactly being quiet,” Justin said dryly. “And then he went off into the Forbidden Forest.”

“The  _Forbidden Forest_?” the girls’ voices went up several octaves, then probably shushed when they realized they were in a library and Madame Pince could come around to shoo them out.

“No one heard you,” Michael told them, trying to sound reassuring. He thought he succeeded.

“She has the ears of a  _bat_ ,” Susan hissed. “We’re going to be kicked out – I just  _know_  it—”

“She won’t hear us if I don’t want her to,” Michael repeated, patient. “It’s fine, Susan.”

“What do you  _mean_  if you don’t want her to? What did you do, Wayne?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Forget it,” Ernie interrupted whatever Susan was going to say next. “You’re awful at this.”

No one had ever said Michael was good at delivering news. That had been Gabriel’s job, and after Gabriel had disappeared, he had left that to his subordinates.

“Hannah, Susan, meet Michael,” Ernie said, gesturing to Michael with a dramatic flourish. “He touched this bloody tree in the middle of the Forbidden Forest and then zapped us back here and looked like an Inferi.”

“I would’ve said robot,” Justin said.

Ernie frowned. “Is this another of your Muggle things?”

“That you don’t know what robots are is just sad, Ernie.”

“Hold up,” Susan interrupted, sounding annoyed, “what the bloody hell do you mean  _Michael_? That’s Wayne.”

“If you were going to play a prank, at least make it a good one,” Hannah said, huffing. “The only thing remotely different about him is that he looks like he’s had a good night’s sleep for once.”

They all looked at Michael as if to check this statement.

“When did that happen?” Justin squinted at him. “You were still looking all peaky some hours ago.”

Michael lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It wasn’t healthy.”

“Why do you think we were asking if you were all right?” Hannah was frowning. “You’re acting oddly.”

“Ernie was right,” Michael said, taking pity on the boy. “My name  _is_  Michael. I was the boy you knew as Wayne, but I reclaimed myself.”

Susan and Hannah stared at him, sheer disbelief and incredulity radiating from them.

“I didn’t think you’d do something like this,” Susan said finally, tone flat. “This isn’t funny, Wayne.”

“I don’t joke.” Michael tilted his head, letting a bland smile cross his face. The humans shivered reflexively at the sight. “It was never in my nature. I am Michael, and it’s because we were friends that I wanted to tell you. Whether or not you believe me is of no consequence.”

“Let’s put it like this,” Justin jumped in hastily, eyes flicking between Michael and the girls. “We do  _magic_ , which a lot of us thought was just fairy tales. Is it really so farfetched to think that this is also possible?”

“Maybe if you had a bit more of an explanation,” Hannah said, giving Susan a look. “You can’t expect us to just  _believe_  it like that. It doesn’t make sense. Even magic has rules.”

“I don’t have one myself,” Michael said. Not one he was willing to give to these children. “But I was drawn to the forest from the beginning. It wasn’t until last night that I actually went.” He tilted his head up, eyes gleaming with light. “Now I know why I couldn’t sleep as a human.”

“Oh bloody hell,” Susan breathed, eyes wide at the sight. “How did you  _do_ that?”

Michael let the light fade, eyes back to brown. “Do you think this is who I truly am? This is just a vessel; you couldn’t comprehend my true form.”

“You sound even stuffier than Malfoy when you speak like that,” Ernie informed him.

“Just a bit,” Susan agreed. Sobering, she added, “I’m still not entirely sold on this, but you seem pretty serious about it. I’ll play along for now.”

Hannah bit her lip, seemingly torn. She was more inclined than Susan to believe Michael, but even she had some trouble letting go of her preconceived notions of what was possible.

Unlike Ernie and Justin, they hadn’t been there to see what had happened, and Michael had no desire to further show off his abilities to persuade them.

Sensing the conversation was finished, Michael undid his earlier work so that they could be heard and seen by others. No sooner had he done so did Malfoy find them, face pale and eyes wide.

“Did you hear?” Malfoy demanded immediately, not even bothering to see who else was standing with Michael. “Potter’s in the Hospital Wing. He apparently went after the Philosopher’s Stone and faced down You-Know-Who!”

“What?” Justin, Ernie, Susan, and Hannah asked at the same time.

“It’s a load of codswallop if you ask me,” Malfoy went on. “How is that even possible? There’s no way a  _Philosopher’s Stone_  would be in Hogwarts! And—” He broke off, blinking owlishly at them. “Why are you all in nightclothes?”

Recovering admirably quickly, Ernie flipped his head back. “It’s the new fashion.”

“Extremely comfortable,” Susan added, smiling innocently.

Michael was silent a beat too long before he realized Malfoy was staring at him, apparently expecting him to end this insanity.

“So, a Philosopher’s Stone?” he tried, dredging up his more recent memories as Wayne to act somewhat human. “What’s going on?”

Relieved at some normality, Malfoy continued talking. Michael only listened with half an ear, most of his attention on the castle and the energy he was seeking out.

He could tell Malfoy didn’t believe that Harry Potter had faced down Lord Voldemort, but there was little that could hide from his senses, and the traces an evil spirit left behind were no exception. Lord Voldemort had been inside Hogwarts, but he wasn’t any longer. Where he had gone, Michael didn’t know, nor did he care to find out.

As Malfoy finished speaking, Michael suggested joining the rest of the school to see what was going on.

“Put some clothes on first,” Malfoy said. “I refuse to be seen with you wearing  _that_.”

Michael saw absolutely nothing wrong with his pinstriped nightclothes, but apparently the others agreed, pulling him along after an awkward moment of just tugging at his arms without him moving.

The end of the year banquet later was more enlightening than Michael had expected, if only because of Dumbledore awarding Gryffindor last-minute points so they won the House Cup. Malfoy looked rather crushed at the loss, although the rest of the school seemed vindictively satisfied.

The sounds weren’t as overwhelming as they had been before, but Michael still heard—

 _No_.

He was here now, and there was nothing he could do about his past.

Michael had little idea  _what_  he should do, though, but for now, he would remain here. It was as good a place as any.

* * *

**Suraj Sharma as Michael**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter isn't going to be as long as this one, I'm sorry to say. I was hoping everything could be bundled up into one, but that wasn't going to be happening.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought! The muse thrives on feedback, and I've been excited to share this with you guys.


	2. Second Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, the thing with not posting chapters as I finish them is that I can go back and add stuff that I realized I forgot. Which I did here. So now I have the third year finished, and I'm not posting that until I finish fourth year. That way I can see how things pan out. I'm also not sure that this is going to be 7 chapters. It will possibly be less depending on how the later years pan out. I'm definitely not covering year 7 as it was in the books, and neither will year 6 pan out the same way.
> 
> I'm really uncertain about how I'm handling Michael's character, since I know where I want to go, but I'm not sure how to get there. He's developing, but he's a difficult character to get a grip on. So, I hope I'm doing his character justice. I really, really hope so. I really hope I'm not going to disappoint you guys as you continue reading this.
> 
> So, this is me posting this.

Going back to his human house was…strange. To say the least.

Michael could remember the love and affection Wayne had towards his parents, but as he was now, being hugged by an overly affectionate woman was rather peculiar. As was having his hair ruffled by the man he had called father.

The very thought of doing so now had him shuddering.

“You’ll owl, then?” Ernie asked him once introductions were out of the way.

“Yes,” Michael said evenly. It behooved him to use such a ridiculous method of communication, but he did have an image to keep.

“You’re welcome to come over for a visit,” Eleanor told the others.

“Likewise,” Susan said, throwing a glance back at her aunt. “We’ll keep in touch.” Giving Michael one last wave, she went off with Amelia. She was still rather uncertain about Michael’s identity, although that hadn’t stopped her from continuing to associate with him.

Hannah was less shy, stepping close to give Michael a hug before leaving with her parents.

The trip back home was relatively quiet, Michael uncertain of how to behave around the humans he had previously called his parents. They would continue to treat him as a child, which would get aggravating in no time.

Dane sneezed into Michael’s lap, clearly unimpressed with Michael’s internal dilemma. He squinted up at Michael, impatience radiating off him.

After a few failed attempts at a conversation, Eleanor and Alan left him to his thoughts, clearly understanding that Michael wanted to be left alone. They’d doubtlessly heard of the events at Hogwarts, reports of Quirrell’s unfortunate demise making it into the papers, so Michael had something of an excuse for his behavior.

That didn’t mean it could last for long, as suspicions would be raised if he didn’t at least  _try_  to act like the boy they remembered from the winter holidays.

Dane made a grumpy noise when Michael finally set out his food and water.

“It’s not going to be  _easy_ ,” Michael protested.

Dane’s only response was a squinty look.

“Yes, I’ll try.”

Seemingly satisfied with that promise, Dane went off to make himself home right next to the food bowl, licking himself with dignity.

Michael gave him some privacy, resolving to spend the night elsewhere since he had no desire to spend it lying in a bed he no longer needed.

Instead, he explored the universe he was in, comparing it to the one he was from. It was similar, but it also felt  _old_  in a way Michael was unaccustomed to feeling. He’d grown up with his universe, having been born close to its beginnings, perhaps a few million years after his Father had decided to Create it.

This one…this one felt even older than his, but also younger in a way. It was an odd dichotomy, and Michael didn’t know what to make of it. Only that something was strange, and he didn’t have the information or the ability to find out more.

It was disconcerting.

What was more, the  _silence_  was just as awful as Michael remembered from the Cage. But now at least he had the voices of the humans to keep him company, even if they were utterly alien compared to the voices of his siblings.

The voice of the universe was also present, and Michael clung to that to keep the silence at bay.

When morning came, Michael landed silently in his room, hearing the rustling sounds of the humans waking up and getting ready for the day.

He would have to join them for breakfast.

And…talk.

Staring at himself in the mirror – at the visage that was both familiar and not – Michael wondered what he had gotten himself into with this decision to stay.

Eleanor greeted him with a smile and a kiss when he entered the kitchen, seeming not to notice Michael’s stiffness at the affection.

Forcing himself to relax and smile at her, Michael managed to return the gesture before taking his usual seat at the table. He had been a human child for the last eleven years. He could manage to do it for however long he would need to now.

“So,” Alan started once breakfast was set, “how was your first year?”

“Educational,” Michael answered simply. “And fun,” he added after another second’s reflection. As Wayne, it  _had_  been fun. “Is there anything you wanted to know?”

“Do the staircases  _really_  move?”

“You don’t believe me?” Eleanor sounded amused rather than insulted.

“It just seems a little implausible—”

“I’m a witch and moving staircases are implausible?”

“You’ve never said what kind of spell does it—”

Michael slowly let his food disappear into the ether, carefully staying out of the affectionate bickering.

Once again, he wondered if this was the right decision and if he shouldn’t just leave now.

But then Eleanor smiled warmly at him, and Michael felt a rush of unconditional love from both of them that was directed at him, and his core warmed at the feeling.

It was nothing like the love he had felt from his Father, but it was very similar. And Michael had no idea how to respond beyond smiling back, something utterly different from anything he had shown before.

Maybe…maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult after all.

* * *

A few weeks and several bothersome owl posts later, Michael finally answered the insistent prayers and landed in Justin’s room.

A surprised shriek and one thrown book later, Justin was apologizing profusely for having thrown the Bible at Michael’s head.

Michael shrugged, bending to pick the book up and noting it as a recent edition. “I’ve had worse.” Then, flipping it open, he saw that it had one of the more egregious mistranslations of Gabriel’s message and couldn’t stop a disgusted curl of his lips.

“What?” Justin sounded vaguely alarmed. “I kept it clean!”

It was very clean. “Why are you reading this?” Michael asked instead.

“Well…” Justin shifted his gaze downwards. “I just wanted to learn more.”

“You could do better than this,” Michael said, letting the book drop to the mattress.

“It’s not like I’m going to ask you every little thing about your past,” Justin protested. “Why are you even here?”

“You prayed.”

“I didn’t!”

Michael let himself smile, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “My name was included in your thoughts, aimed with intention towards me. It happened often enough that I decided to answer.”

Justin mulled that over. “Do you do that for everyone, then?”

“No.” There were certain voices Michael made sure to filter now, even if it was something he hadn’t realized he was doing until he received Justin’s prayers. Before, he would have disregarded everything.

“So all that about you answering prayers and performing miracles...”

“We haven’t done anything like that for a long time,” Michael said. “It was…”  _Unimportant_ , he almost finished with, but there was something that held him back from doing so.

“But why not?” Justin pushed the Bible aside, scooting forward until he was closer.

Michael could have said something about free will, but that would’ve been a lie. It hadn’t been about respecting free will when they had stopped performing miracles. It had been about plotting and bringing about the end.

Looking down at his feet, Michael found he had nothing to say.

Several awkward minutes later, Justin realized Michael wasn’t going to answer his question. “So…why don’t you start doing it again, then?”

Michael glanced up at him, surprised.

“It’s got to be boring just sitting around, yeah?” Justin looked vaguely nervous. “So maybe do something…angelic.”

Bemused, Michael held his gaze until Justin squirmed and looked away, visibly embarrassed.

“It was probably stupid anyway,” Justin muttered.

“No, it wasn’t.” Michael looked for the right words. “It just…isn’t something we do.”

“But why  _not_?” Justin asked. “Everything I’ve looked at and read says that if we want help, we pray. Are you saying no one’s listening?”

There was no one  _here_  to listen. Michael was the only one.

“Yes,” Michael answered finally. He didn’t apologize; it wouldn’t help.

“Oh.” Justin looked stricken, eyes falling to the Bible. “I… Okay. So…you guys aren’t what we thought you were.”

 _“Did you forget Dad’s other message? The one about being their **protectors**?”_  Michael flinched at the memory of his brother’s voice, angry, hurt, and  _raw_. He’d forgotten the message. Time had buried it under the weight of everything else.

He had made so many mistakes – had so much to repent.

But he didn’t have the energy or the will to do what Justin was expecting. And yet…

“I would listen for you,” Michael said softly, something like anxiety flickering through him. “If you prayed…I would answer.”

Justin’s head snapped up. “Would you? Why?”

The answer, when it came, was surprisingly easy. “You’re my friend.” He’d never had any of those. His family didn’t really count.

“You’re sure of that now?” There was barely hidden humor in Justin’s voice.

Michael inclined his head, more sure of this than he was of anything else that he was doing now.

He hoped – no,  _prayed_  – that what he was doing was right. Because if it wasn’t, if this was another mistake…

Michael couldn’t afford any more.

* * *

The rest of the summer passed peacefully enough, punctuated only by the visits Michael allowed himself, both via human and normal means. Justin’s reaction wasn’t even the most violent, as Susan had gone for a potion and dumped it over his head only to reel back in horror when noticing who she had just dowsed in poison.

Hannah had simply shrieked and thrown a badly aimed mirror at him, which promptly shattered upon hitting the wall. Ernie’s reaction had been the calmest, flinching back violently enough that his chair tipped over and he went sprawling on the floor.

But once it was over, even Susan seemed more inclined to believe Michael was who he claimed he was.

The train ride back to Hogwarts was largely uneventful except for the worried muttering Michael caught from a compartment where Hermione Granger was sitting by herself, with no sign of her friends.

Malfoy shoved his way into their compartment near the end of the ride, complaining about Weasley’s father and the way Potter had been fawned over by Gilderoy Lockhart – who was going to be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

“And he isn’t even on the train!” Malfoy sniffed, ignoring the goggling stares from the others as he addressed Michael.

Being a sounding board for an emotionally wrought boy had never been on Michael’s list of things to do when masquerading as a human. “Maybe he has another ride?”

“Unlikely!”

Malfoy left soon after that, leaving Michael alone with the others.

There was a pointed silence for several minutes, Michael taking the opportunity to inspect the box of beans Susan had bought and eviscerate any nastily flavored ones. He still remembered his unfortunate experiences with vomit- and poop-flavored ones as a human.

“Woww,” Susan said finally, drawing the word out.

“You’re not telling him, are you?” Ernie asked, frowning.

Michael looked up from the box. “He’s friendly enough, but no.”

“That’s quite a change from you saying you’re not friends.”

“It isn’t as if he’s dangerous,” Michael said. “He’s a child, Ernie. His beliefs are rather thoughtless, but he’ll grow out of them.”

“Will he?” Susan sounded dubious. “His parents are into that whole ‘purebloods are better’ nonsense, and it isn’t as if most of Slytherin is any better.”

Michael simply shrugged, handing the beans back to Susan for her to eye suspiciously. Malfoy hadn’t exactly used any slurs while around Wayne  _or_  Michael, perhaps realizing that it wasn’t a very wise decision after Ernie and Susan had jumped down his throat. And if he did so now, Michael would have no qualms about telling him off.

His Father had Created humans as equals, and while this world was one he was still largely unfamiliar with, that didn’t mean it was different.

Still, while Michael was growing used to being in a human school, he suspected that it wasn’t usual for two of the students to arrive via flying car. The disbelieving faces his friends made upon hearing the rumors confirmed his suspicion, as did the Howler that Weasley received not long after.

Malfoy seemed nothing but gleeful over the whole affair, especially since the two had been punished with no regard for Potter’s famed status.

Personally, Michael couldn’t really see how Potter’s fame had gotten him anything, since the poor boy looked harried every time Lockhart so much as showed his face. He’d heard the stories about the Defense classes from Malfoy, along with numerous complaints about how much of a buffoon Lockhart was.

Even when  _not_  looking, it was difficult to miss that Lockhart had almost no magical ability to speak of. And upon closer reading of his (horribly boring) textbooks, Michael could see numerous inaccuracies that didn’t match up.

“But that’s ridiculous,” Hannah protested when Michael mentioned it after one class. “Why would Dumbledore hire him, then?”

“Because he’s funny?” Justin suggested.

“At least we didn’t have any blasted pixies,” Ernie grumbled. “Neville was going on about those.”

Michael couldn’t care less about pixies or Lockhart’s questionable teaching methods. He had other issues to attend to, starting about a week after the term started again.

The first had to do with the ghosts, as the Fat Friar found him one night, looking visibly nervous. “We don’t want to leave.”

Michael raised his eyebrows, leaning against the edge of the window he had been looking out of. “What does this have to do with me?”

The Fat Friar glanced behind him to the forms of the other ghosts before returning his gaze to Michael. “We don’t know what you are, sir, but it isn’t human.”

Michael’s gaze moved slowly from ghost to ghost before finally returning to the Fat Friar’s. “You’re right,” he said quietly, folding his arms. “But that is none of your concern. It isn’t my job to deal with you.” He smiled faintly. “You’re fine. All of you.”

The ghosts all stared at him for several minutes, searching him for any hint of dishonesty. When no sign showed, they slowly started leaving. The Fat Friar left last, giving Michael a nod before he faded through the ceiling.

With that, Michael went back to stargazing, thinking that was the last of any unusual happenings.

Until Sprout held him back after their second Herbology class, looking concerned. “Wayne,” she started gently, “have you been settling in all right?”

“Yes,” Michael answered, uncertain if this was a trick question. Then again, Sprout had been nothing but honest since he’d known her.

“You’ve been eating?”

“The food’s very good,” Michael offered hesitantly. From his human memories, he remembered it tasting good. Now it tasted like nothing but molecules, and he ate as little as possible.

Sprout still didn’t look relieved. “And your parents?”

“They’re fine. Professor,” Michael added belatedly.

Sprout didn’t seem to notice, too concerned with fussing over him for some odd reason. “You’ll let me know if you need anything?”

Michael remembered Sprout’s welcome speech last year, how warm and motherly she had seemed to Wayne. Even now he could sense nothing but concern and warmth, but she wasn’t telling him what had her so concerned.

_He hasn’t grown at all over the summer. Even his hair is the same… I should have Poppy look him over._

Managing to excuse himself from the conversation with the promise that he’d tell Sprout if he needed anything, Michael knew he would have to start aging this body. He hadn’t even realized that children this age grew. All his previous vessels had been adults, and he’d never been concerned with keeping up the messy bodily functions of aging.

So he had no idea how to even go about changing this body at a human rate.

Which led to him studying the bodily processes of the children around him.

“Mate…” Justin noticed him doing so only two days into the project and sounded wary. “Is there some reason that you’re staring at us as if we’re bugs under a microscope?”

“That sounds concerning,” Ernie said, looking just as wary as Justin sounded.

“I’m looking at your hormones,” Michael answered. He’d already discovered that the girls’ hormones differed from the boys’, and he’d changed his focus accordingly, not wanting to develop breasts or deal with menstruation.

Then again, he’d first have to grow a uterus for that to work. Which was too much effort and Michael couldn’t be bothered to mess with a perfectly fine vessel that simply needed to age for about ten years.

“Is there any reason you’re not looking at ours?” Susan asked.

“You’re not the right sex.” Michael watched with interest as a certain hormone humans called cortisol spiked briefly in Ernie and Justin.

“But what are you  _doing_?” Justin demanded, subtly leaning back.

Michael blinked, refocusing his vision to human levels. “Sprout is worried because I’m not growing, so I’m seeing what I need to do for that to happen.”

They studied him for several minutes, eyes thoughtful.

“It’s true,” Hannah said finally. “You’re smaller than us now.”

Which meant Michael needed to accelerate his growth to catch up.

“Are you saying you don’t grow old?” Susan asked curiously.

“This is simply a vessel,” Michael explained. “There isn’t usually a need to physically alter a vessel outside of healing wounds, although it can be done.”

“So you grow old, but we can’t see it.”

Technically speaking, angels didn’t grow old the way humans did, but humans couldn’t even begin to understand the aging process for angels. So Michael just nodded and returned to studiously watching the hormone processes of the boys for the next several days before kick-starting his own and accelerating it to make up for the lost time.

Sprout continued to watch him worriedly for several weeks afterwards, but once she saw that he was growing and aging like a normal boy, she left him alone.

But once that issue of his growing was attended to, another one cropped up at the end of October, during Halloween.

Halloween wasn’t exactly a date that held great significance for Michael. It was certainly true that it was easier for the supernatural world to interact with humans during this day, but it wasn’t something that concerned Michael. Hogwarts was filled with peaceful ghosts and other creatures that didn’t bear anyone ill will (Peeves was another issue, but one who had left Michael alone after a glare).

But while Michael didn’t put any important significance on the date, mortals did. A troll had entered the school last year, only to be defeated by Potter and Weasley. And this year seemed to be entirely uneventful until Michael heard faint whisperings.

_Rip…kill…_

Tuning out the noise of the Hall, Michael focused on the voice he had heard. It spoke again, and this time Michael recognized it as a snake, albeit an unusually bloodthirsty one.

“Hey, Wayne, you good?” Justin’s voice broke him out of his focus.

Pulling his attention away from the snake roaming inside the walls of Hogwarts, Michael gave him an easy nod and smile before selecting an inoffensive bowl of pudding to be eaten.

It wasn’t until they heard that Mrs. Norris had been petrified that Michael realized that the snake had been anything but an unusually bloodthirsty snake. It was a  _magical_  bloodthirsty snake, and one that no one was familiar with.

“Lockhart says he can take care of it,” Hannah said later in their Common Room.

“It could be a Cornish pixie,” Ernie joked. “A large one. Then we’re sunk.”

“It wasn’t a pixie,” Michael said.

“It wasn’t?” Ernie looked rather crestfallen that his theory was wrong.

“Did you see something?” Susan demanded.

“No.” Michael made sure no one else was listening before continuing. “I heard it. It’s a snake.”

The others were silent for a few minutes, assimilating the information.

“But don’t cats eat snakes?” Hannah asked.

“Smaller ones,” Michael said. “This didn’t sound like a small snake.”

“Do you know what kind of snake it was?” Justin asked.

“One that petrifies animals,” Michael answered, unwilling to reveal his ignorance but unable to give them any other answer.

Susan’s eyebrows were raised. “So you don’t know.”

“I’m sure it’s easy enough to find out,” Justin said before Michael could. “It’ll just mean spending some time in the library.”

Michael didn’t point out that Hogwarts’ library wasn’t limitless and there was a chance it wouldn’t have the answer.

Susan lowered her voice to ask pointedly, “But couldn’t you  _find_  the snake?”

“And do what?” Michael’s voice was calm. “It hasn’t killed anyone. The cat’s still alive, and it’ll be fine once they find the cure.”

“But you could heal her.”

“And leave no explanation for how a petrified cat is suddenly unpetrified?” And truth be told, he didn’t really want to. It was still a new feeling, and it was one he didn’t mind indulging.

“They’d come up with something,” Justin said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced of this.

“It’s unnecessary,” Michael said dismissively.

“Are you going to do anything about the snake, then?” Susan asked.

“No.” Michael met Susan’s eyes. “It isn’t my job, Susan.”

Susan exhaled heavily, scowling. “But what if something happens? Something other than Mrs. Norris being petrified? Are you still going to say it’s not your  _job_ ,  _Michael_? I looked you up, you know. Muggles have a lot of ideas about what you’re supposed to do.”

“And they’re all mostly wrong,” Michael said, unflinching as a group of bawdy fifth years yelled indistinguishably. “But if something else happens, then I’ll take care of it.”

He didn’t think it very likely, but it was always possible. At any rate, there was no need to seek out a snake because of one incident.

* * *

Several days after the petrification of Mrs. Norris and the bloody writing on the wall that Filch had tried and failed to remove, the full history of the Chamber of Secrets was flying through Hogwarts, thanks to one Professor Binns. Ernie managed to get his hands on a copy of Hogwarts: A History to corroborate the ghost’s story before they were all checked out.

A secret chamber wasn’t even the most outlandish thing Michael had ever heard of. No, that fell to the myriad of creatures that Father had allowed Gabriel to design at the beginning.

He still didn’t understand just why Gabriel had seen fit to put together a platypus and make it a mammal capable of laying eggs.

“But,  _honestly_ ,” Susan huffed after reading the book. “A secret chamber that no one has found? I mean, it would be amazing, but it’s still really unlikely.”

“It’s only secret if no one’s found it,” Hannah pointed out, flipping through the pages.

“It’s not much of a secret if everyone knows about it, is it?”

“Technically, it’s only called the Chamber of Secrets, not the Secret Chamber,” Ernie said.

“But is that where the snake’s hidden?” Susan asked, glancing at Michael as if expecting him to have the answer.

Michael took a moment to answer, checking for the snake’s presence that he could feel on the grounds. “When it’s sleeping.”

“Oh, when it’s  _sleeping_.” Susan sounded dismayed. “That…doesn’t make me feel better at all.”

“…Sorry?” Michael eventually offered, unsure of whether this was the right response.

“That looked like it hurt for you to say,” Susan said unsympathetically. “Ugh, never mind. This is all rubbish.”

“I dunno.” Ernie peered at the book over Hannah’s shoulder. “This is really interesting. I should’ve checked out this book earlier. Granger knows her stuff.”

“We have it now,” Hannah said, “so why not finish reading it before giving it back?”

“And piss off the rest of the school?” Ernie pretended to consider it for all of five seconds before nodding and pulling the book over so it was between them. “Let’s do it.”

Justin hung over Ernie’s shoulders, and following a moment’s hesitation, Susan followed suit, coming to Hannah’s other side.

Michael took one look at the little group he was now beginning to honestly call friends and only briefly wondered  _why_  before pulling out the stack of homework he had to finish and staring it into submission.

This was one of those times that he wished he didn’t have to pretend to be human.

* * *

Even while he’d been regular Wayne Hopkins, he’d never been that fanatic about Quidditch. Still, it was a school thing, and it was one that his friends went to. So Michael went as well, if only to see which team would come out the better between Gryffindor and Slytherin.

Malfoy was Seeker this year, even if he’d bribed his way onto the team. Strangely enough, Malfoy hadn’t told Michael he would be doing so. The next time they saw each other, Michael fixed Malfoy with his best disappointed look (courtesy of Ernie and Justin asking him to do so) and Malfoy stalked off and didn’t bother them for several days before mysteriously reappearing with a box of what Hannah called “apology sweets.”

Now Potter and Malfoy were playing against each other, and while Malfoy was still on friendly terms with Michael, Michael wasn’t biased enough to say that Malfoy was the better flyer of the two.

And then there was the Bludger.

Michael took only a moment to sense that it was carrying a different magic from the other balls in use. The crowd realized the same thing after the third time it went after Potter, but no one could do anything.

“That Bludger’s gone crazy,” Ernie said, slightly stunned.

Michael didn’t respond, focusing on tuning down his senses so he couldn’t feel the acrid fear and shock the crowd was giving off. It wasn’t—

_“ No, no, no, Lucifer,  **please** —”_

With a sharp inhale, Michael snapped out of it, fingers clenching tightly on the wooden railing with a hollow  _crunch_. The Bludger exploded a split-second later, and the fear gave way to stunned shock and disbelief, which was infinitely better than what had been radiating through them before.

“Bloody  _hell_ ,” Justin breathed, shocked. “Was that you?”

Giving him a wan smile, Michael released the broken railing, flexed his fingers once to let the splinters fall out and the cuts heal, and then put his hand into his robes.

Missing one tampered Bludger, the game was halted until another one could be procured.

Once the game resumed, Potter caught the Snitch within ten minutes. This time, when the crowd cheered for Gryffindor’s win over Slytherin, Michael let the cheerful energy course through him, chasing out the last of the cold.

* * *

“Why did you drag me here?” Michael asked, pained. “I thought we agreed that he was a buffoon who can’t teach.”

“I don’t remember ever agreeing to that,” Ernie answered, frowning.

“It was on your face in our last class.”

“I thought that was mortal terror for having to read one of those books.”

“Enough,” Hannah hissed, digging her elbow into Ernie’s side.

“We can watch him make a fool of himself,” Justin suggested.

They ended up standing next to Potter’s group, and Justin took the opportunity to formally introduce himself, shaking Potter’s hand rather eagerly. “My name was down for Eton, you know. I can’t tell you how glad I am I came here instead. Of course, Mother was slightly disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart’s books I think she’s begun to see how useful it’ll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family…”

Michael resisted the urge to point out that all of Lockhart’s books were pure garbage in favor of paying attention to Lockhart entering.

Watching him strut his way across the Great Hall, Michael had to admit that Justin had a point. Ten minutes later, that point was proven when Snape eviscerated him and Lockhart attempted to save face by having everyone present split up to also try the Disarming Charm.

Michael ended up with Hannah, and he didn’t bother trying anything, letting his wand fly over to her after she cast the spell. The stick was nigh useless now, even if his vessel had magic in its genes. The first time he’d tried casting a spell with the thing, it almost exploded. Michael hadn’t done so since, only taking it out as a cover in classes.

“You’re supposed to try this, too,” Hannah said, peeved.

Taking his wand back, Michael side-stepped an errant burst of magic from the students behind him before waving the stick and snatching Hannah’s wand.

Five seconds later, Lockhart called everything to a halt and pulled Potter to the front for a demonstration. Snape volunteered Malfoy after dismissing a rather relieved looking Longbottom, and Michael found himself pushed more to the front by his eager friends. Malfoy’s eyes caught his briefly before the other looked away, attention on Potter.

“This isn’t going to be good,” Susan whispered, nudging Michael slightly.

Michael grunted noncommittally, not sure what she wanted him to say. They were both twelve; it wasn’t like they’d be killing each other in front of the entire school, no matter how much immature anger was coming off of Potter and Malfoy.

Two minutes later, Michael found himself reevaluating this when Malfoy summoned a poisonous snake that was absolutely pissed at having been pulled away from its sleep.

Everyone froze, stunned, at the sight of the snake shaking itself off. Potter didn’t seem to be breathing, looking at the snake with wide eyes.

After a brief period of consideration, the snake turned towards Michael, slithering its way across the floor until it was almost at Justin’s feet.

Potter snapped into action just before Michael pushed Justin back, demanding angrily, “Leave him alone!”

The hush that fell over the students wasn’t because the snake pulled away from Justin. It was because Potter had spoken in the snake’s language.

Michael hadn’t even known that was possible for humans, since they lacked the appropriate vocal chords to properly speak like snakes. It had something to do with magic, Michael could sense that much.

No one seemed surprised at the sound of a human speaking like a snake. Instead…they were more frightened that  _Potter_  could speak like a snake.

Which didn’t really make sense, and Michael didn’t understand until later when Ernie was ranting about Potter possibly being the heir of Slytherin and controlling that bloody snake.

“What do you mean?” Michael asked, cutting Ernie off in the middle of his rant.

“What do you mean what do I mean?” Ernie stared at him in disbelief. “You saw it, too! He ordered that snake to attack Justin!”

“He told it to leave Justin alone,” Michael said, wondering at Ernie’s eyesight. The snake had stopped moving after Potter’s order, so he didn’t understand why Ernie thought Potter had ordered it to attack. “Why would that make him the heir?”

“Didn’t you see him?” Ernie hissed, snatching hold of Michael’s arm to draw him to a halt in the middle of the hallway. “He spoke Parseltongue! He can speak to  _snakes_!”

“So can I.”

“Yes, but you’re not human,” Ernie said, shrugging. “So you don’t count.”

“It’s just a language.” Michael tried not to sound bewildered. “Why was everyone so frightened?” Had they also sensed the presence Michael had? The one clinging to the boy like a shadow?

“It’s Parseltongue, Michael,” Susan said, voice quiet. “The last wizard to speak Parseltongue was Salazar Slytherin, and he was Dark.”

And as humans said, two plus two equaled four. Or in this case, five.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Michael said, his friends’ anxiety and frustration bouncing off him. He reminded himself they were still just children, frightened ones at that. “It’s a language; languages aren’t evil. It’s the people who speak them that are dangerous.”

“But it’s the  _heir of Slytherin_  that can open the Chamber,” Ernie insisted. “And only an heir could speak Parseltongue.”

“He really told it to stop?” Justin asked, subdued. He was still pale.

Michael nodded once, the motion stilted. Then, looking back at Ernie, he said, “Maybe that’s true, but it’s not him. I can tell you that, so don’t go threatening him for stopping a snake from attacking Justin.”

“I wasn’t!”

“You were thinking it.” Michael’s lips twitched slightly. “I’m sure Potter has enough to worry about if the entire school is thinking what you are.”

* * *

This ended up being entirely too true, as Michael caught glimpses of Potter scurrying away from Lockhart stalking him through the halls and the Weasley twins heralding Potter as the heir and leading him through the school in the most obnoxious manner possible. Amidst it all were the rumors about Potter being the heir and Potter having it out for everyone who wasn’t pure.

Malfoy thought it was all codswallop, but he never actually said so out loud.

“You seem really convinced that it  _isn’t_  him,” Susan said during one study session. “Why?”

“Because he’s  _jealous_ ,” Zacharias muttered under his breath, seeming bored with everything.

Not for the first time, Michael wondered why he even continued to sit in on their study sessions. It wasn’t as if Michael was sleeping through Binns’ lessons anymore, and his notes were a great deal more detailed than Zacharias’s friend’s.

“It’s  _Potter_ ,” Malfoy said simply, though that didn’t really answer the question. “He’s friends with Granger and Weasley.”

Michael studied Malfoy’s fidgeting hands for a moment before saying, “You know something else.”

Malfoy made a face at Michael, who simply raised his eyebrows in response. It was another few minutes of fidgeting, some sighing, and faces, before Malfoy said disgustedly, “Fine. I asked my father about it.”

Michael’s friends said nothing, though he could sense that they were listening; even Zacharias was paying attention now. “Did he say something?”

Voice dropping, Malfoy drew in closer to say, “It was opened fifty years ago, and someone  _died_.”

Michael raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Who?”

“He didn’t tell me.” Malfoy sounded disgruntled. “But they were going to shut the school down until they arrested someone. He didn’t tell me who it was either.”

“So…we have a new heir?”

“Or the heir returned.”

It was a minute before Justin snorted, followed by Ernie putting his head on his book, shoulders shaking. Susan and Hannah didn’t seem to know whether to smack them or join in, and even Zacharias had covered his mouth to hide a smirk. Crabbe and Goyle didn’t seem to understand the joke.

Malfoy stared at them. “What?”

Sighing, Michael pinched his nose. “The only new person here is Lockhart. Are you suggesting he’s the heir?”

It took all of five seconds before sheer incredulity crossed Malfoy’s face. “Are you  _daft_? That  _idiot_? He couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag, let alone a secret chamber!”

“He’s not  _that_  bad,” Hannah protested.

“Please, Abbott, he couldn’t even defend himself against a simple Disarming Charm.” Malfoy’s lips curled. “I don’t know what Dumbledore was thinking when he hired that buffoon, but he’s even more inept than Quirrell.”

There was literally nothing his friends could say to that, since it was completely true. Stifling an inappropriate smile, Michael ducked his head, returning his attention to the homework they had compiled on the table.

“Did Snape ask for a foot?” Michael asked, changing the subject. “Or was that McGonagall?”

His friends gave him knowing looks, but Malfoy seemed happy enough to start explaining the newest Potions assignment they had.

* * *

Aside from Potter outing himself as a Parseltongue in front of the school, nothing else happened for the next two weeks. December was rapidly approaching, and the weather in Scotland reflected the change in months by dumping a mountain of snow on the grounds.

After a few miserable days of trudging through the snow, Herbology was finally cancelled, allowing the students to remain inside.

Michael remained near the fireplace on the coldest days, letting the warmth sink into his skin. It wasn’t as if it was as cold as… _there_ …but it was cold enough for humans.

His friends didn’t really mind the cold, going out to play in the snow and throw snowballs at each other or flee from enchanted snowmen that the seventh years charmed to attack the younger students.

After the first time Michael had been dragged out, beaten a snowman to death by accident, and then knocked a seventh year out by throwing a snowball too hard, everyone had mutually agreed that he could stay indoors and enjoy the warmth.

This wasn’t a problem.

Until it was.

* * *

Justin had been petrified.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault. He had just gone off somewhere, and the next thing anyone knew was Peeves screaming that Potter had attacked another student and a ghost.

It was anyone’s fault…but Michael’s.

It was impossible to miss hearing a snake moving through the walls of Hogwarts, but he’d dismissed it. And now…

“Wayne?” Ernie sounded strained, face pinched.

Michael couldn’t offer any platitudes, something akin to fury pounding in him. He’d said he would protect Justin, would  _listen_  to him, and he hadn’t.

“I’ll be back soon,” Michael murmured, turning on his heel and leaving the Hospital Wing, leaving behind Justin and Nicholas.

He found himself at the spot where Potter had found them, eyes closed and focusing on the energies he could feel.

There was…the snake.

Michael moved to the chamber that had the entire school in an uproar. It was dank and cold, the stench of rot, mildew, and death clinging to every inch of the place.

Opening his eyes, Michael moved in a slow circle, taking in every aspect of the hall that was the Chamber of Secrets Slytherin had built. At the end was a giant portrait of a bearded man carved out of stone.

Steps slow and careful, Michael approached it. Once he was close enough, he reached a hand out to touch the smooth stone of the mouth. There was an enchantment sealing it, and he broke it without a second’s thought, pulling the mouth open with a forceful tug.

Then, stepping back, he waited for the snake to emerge.

It wasn’t long before the reptile emerged, simultaneously beautiful and terrifying. The moment Michael saw its piercing yellow eyes, the magic clinging to every scale, and the poison dripping from its fangs, he knew what Slytherin had bred.

 _Basilisk_.

“Aren’t you something else,” Michael murmured, walking around the basilisk. He couldn’t help but feel amused at the bewilderment the snake felt at the sight of someone not dropping dead from its gaze.

The basilisk hissed at him, demanding to know his identity.

Michael smirked, turning to face the basilisk head on. “Not your heir, basilisk.” He snapped out a hand when the basilisk reared to strike him, skin meeting scales with a forceful collision as the basilisk came to a screeching halt. “You may call me Michael.”

Hand twisting, Michael incinerated the basilisk from the inside out.

Seconds later, all that remained of the creature of the Chamber was a pile of ashes. Letting his hand drop, Michael exhaled slowly, fingers curling into his palm.

The basilisk was dead, but the person responsible for releasing it was still wandering freely.

And…

Michael crouched, picking up a strand of red hair.

It was long, and clinging to it was the same energy Michael had sensed surrounding Potter, but more…aware.

Clenching the hair strand in his palm, Michael inhaled, letting his eyes fall shut as he traveled backwards, skimming over the near past to see…

_A red-haired girl, eyes blank, releasing the basilisk and setting it loose into the school._

Fiery red hair.

A Weasley.

Michael didn’t hesitate before seeking her soul out, landing in the middle of a bathroom. A second later, a ghost shrieked.

His fingers twitched, the ghost fell abruptly silent, and the girl standing before one of the sinks stiffened, eyes going to Michael.

It was…

 _Vile_.

Not the girl’s soul, but the one currently possessing her. It was broken, torn, shattered, and marred in a way no soul should be.

Michael moved forwards, hand coming out to grip the girl’s outstretched wrist tightly, pressing a nerve that caused her fingers to slacken and let the wand fall to the floor. He reached into her robes with his other hand, pulling out a beaten-up diary before the mangled spirit possessing her could react.

It was part of the soul Michael had sensed in the castle earlier after Potter had faced the one wizards feared to call Voldemort, and it was inside the diary.

As was part of the girl’s soul.

“This is you, isn’t it?” Michael asked softly, not letting the spirit go. “The one known as Voldemort.”

The girl’s lips twisted. “And you are?”

“You may call me Michael.” Michael opened the book, the spine fitting easily into his hand. The pages were blank, but he could  _see_  the words the girl had written into its pages, ink being absorbed and the magic feeding the spirit that was housed in its confines. The spirit had responded to her words, creating a parasitic loop that had resulted in this possession.

“Is that supposed to frighten me?”

“Perhaps not.” Michael snapped the book shut, feeding Grace into it.

The spirit flinched back, and this time Michael let him pull away. Cracks were appearing in its visage, though the only outward sign was the girl’s eyes glowing. “What are you doing?” It sounded frightened.

Michael didn’t answer, letting the book drop to his side. Reaching forward before the spirit could pull away, he sank his hand into the girl’s chest, grabbing hold of the spirit.

There was a scream, a spurt of water from the faucets and toilets as the ghost fled from the sight, and the girl’s back arched.

With a wrench, Michael pulled the spirit out, the girl collapsing into a heap at his feet. The spirit writhed briefly in his hands, and Michael had to restrain the urge to just – throw it  _away_. The feel of an incomplete, torn apart soul was anathema to everything Michael had ever known, and it was… _wrong_.

Curling his fingers into a ball, Michael smote it, the book burning in his other hand as a faint scream emitted from it.

Once the spirit was gone, Michael let the book drop to the wet floor, crouching to check the girl. Her skin was pale and clammy, but rapidly regaining color and warmth as Michael touched her cheek. Her soul was still bright and clear, the opposite of the vile thing that had been possessing her.

Michael drew his fingers over her face before lingering in the red strands of her hair. It wasn’t until his fingers left her entirely that she woke, inhaling sharply and eyes flying open in fright. They met Michael’s instantly. For a breathless instant, she just looked at him.

Then she was scrambling, trying to get away from him.

Michael didn’t move, but he watched as she moved away, pressing her back to the sinks in the center of the room.

“Who—” she gasped, eyes skittering around the bathroom. “What happened?”

In lieu of a verbal answer, Michael held up the burnt book, letting her look at it.

“Did you—?” The girl blinked, hand coming up to her chest where Michael had his hand to grab hold of the spirit. “What happened?”

Michael considered what he could say. He could just erase her memories, forgo any and all explanations he had to give for what had happened.

But the girl had been violated enough already, and she deserved an explanation for what had happened.

“There was a spirit in the book,” Michael said finally, letting the book drop. “It possessed you.”

“It…” The girl inhaled a ragged breath, hand coming up to her mouth. “ _Tom_ ,” she breathed, the sound just on the cusp of Michael’s human hearing.

The gold lettering on the back of the book caught Michael’s eyes, the letters spelling out T.M. Riddle. “Was that his name?” he asked quietly. “Tom?”

“That’s what he told me,” the girl breathed, horror and shock radiating from her. “I… Was anyone hurt?”

“They’ll be fine,” Michael reassured her.

“But I…” The girl shrunk in on herself, knees curling into her chest. “He was in my  _head_ ,” she whispered, hands coming up to her fist her hair. “I can…I can still hear him.”

“He isn’t anymore,” Michael said, keeping his voice calm. It had been a long time since he’d last had to speak to a human like this, and he’d never had to speak to one as young as this. But he could recall how his human parents had spoken to him when he had been frightened from a nightmare and hoped he was mimicking their tones.

“You…” The girl squinted slightly at him, her knees slowly straightening. “You called yourself Michael.”

Michael tilted his head. “You remember that?”

“I wasn’t…” The girl swallowed. “He was so scared.”

Michael glanced at the burnt book, vicious satisfaction curling through him. He breathed, trying to push it away. “Good.”

“What kind of magic was that?”

Michael leaned back slightly, his weight resettling on his heels. “It wasn’t.” Standing in one fluid motion with the book in hand, Michael closed his hand over it, swallowing it into an isolated pocket.

The girl’s eyes widened at the sight. “And  _that_?”

“Also not magic,” Michael said, unable to resist a smile at her fascination. There was no fear now.

“Then?” The girl looked up at him, brown eyes wide.

“It’s Grace.” Michael stretched his hand out for her to take hold of. “My own.”

The girl didn’t take it, hands curling into fists on her knees. “And…that destroyed him? He’s not coming back? He said he was my friend.” Her breath hitched. “He  _listened_  to me. I wasn’t just…a little girl.”

She was little, and while her soul was older than her body, she was still so  _young_. But even the youngest soul was important.

“Everyone has something to say, no matter how young they are,” Michael said softly, unflinching as she met his eyes.

“You’re not much older than me,” the girl pointed out.

Michael didn’t answer, still holding his hand out patiently.

“Do you…” She swallowed. “He’s not coming back, is he?”

“I can’t promise that,” Michael said, since that spirit had only been a portion of the whole. It wasn’t broken – no one could break a soul – but it definitely wasn’t a complete soul either. Michael had no explanation for how that was possible. “But I can promise you this…Ginevra Weasley. He won’t hurt you again.”

Her hand touched his, and he pulled her to her feet. “It’s Ginny, Michael.”

Michael smiled at her, letting go of her hand. “It’s Wayne.”

Biting her lip, Ginny’s eyes dropped to her feet briefly before flickering back to his. Then, without warning, she threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder, body shaking.

Taken aback, it took Michael a minute to respond by wrapping his own arms gingerly around her body, rubbing her back hesitantly. He had no idea what to say, so he said nothing.

Even when she gasped out a broken “ _thank you_ ,” Michael remained silent.

If Justin hadn’t been petrified…he would have done nothing.

The knowledge sat heavily in his stomach.

* * *

Once Michael was certain that Ginny was all right and she had made her way back to the Common Room without any issues, he went to look up the antidote for petrification. Upon finding out it involved mandrakes and there wouldn’t be any mandrakes ready for months, Michael went and collected some, brewing the potion and then leaving it in the Hospital Wing for Pomfrey to use.

Once he was back in the Common Room, his friends swarmed him immediately.

“Where  _were_  you?” Ernie demanded, dragging Michael over to a relatively isolated corner. “Justin’s been petrified and you just went off!”

Michael stared pointedly at the hand Ernie had on him until he took it off. Then, voice even, he explained. “The basilisk’s been taken care of; the heir won’t be a problem.”

Their eyes went wide, Hannah clutching Susan tightly.

“A  _basilisk_?” Susan squeaked.

Michael inclined his head in answer. “It’s dead.”

“And the heir?” Ernie asked.

“Also taken care of.” Michael took a slow breath, pressing his fingers into the walls of Hogwarts. “It won’t be long before they’re unpetrified; I’ve given them the antidote.”

“What happened to your policy of ‘it’ll work itself out’?” Susan asked acerbically.

Michael’s eyes flicked to her before returning to the wall. He tapped it briefly, feeling the magic embedded in the stones. “It did,” he said eventually.

And he said nothing more.

* * *

It was a few days later, when Justin had been cured and things were relatively back to normal, that Ginny approached them in the library, looking nervous but determined.

“Hi…” Ginny glanced at his friends before turning to Michael. “Do you…” She looked down at the table. “Can I sit with you?”

Not looking at his stymied friends, Michael cleared the seat next to him. “Of course.”

Smiling shyly, Ginny sat down, her bag thumping gently onto the floor next to the chair. “Thanks.” She looked up at his friends again. “I’m Ginny.”

It took a moment, but then his friends were introducing themselves.

“How do you know Wayne?” Ernie asked once they were done.

“He…” Ginny glanced at him.

“They know,” Michael told her quietly.

Nodding, Ginny looked back at them. “He saved me.” The words were even.

Susan glanced between her and Michael. “Did he?”

“There was a spirit,” Michael said before Ginny had to. “I took care of it.”

Ginny smiled tremulously, hands going to fiddle with one of the books lying on the table.

“Everything’s good now?” Hannah asked, smile warm. “You’re a first year, right?”

Ginny nodded. “I am.”

Hannah leaned forwards, smile widening. “How are you liking it?”

With an inaudible sigh of relief, Ginny started talking, going on about what she liked about Hogwarts and how amazing the school and classes were.

Ernie and Susan were still looking at Michael, but he ignored them, eyes on Ginny as she gestured wildly, eyes bright for the first time since Michael had met her.

This…had been the right thing to do.

* * *

About two weeks later, Michael was interrupted from his brutal dissection of a history book by a nervous voice. “Er…are you Wayne?”

Michael looked up, surprised to see Longbottom standing directly below where he was sitting on a window seat. “Yes?”

“Right, er…” Longbottom shifted anxiously. “I’m Neville, Ginny’s friend.”

Michael didn’t say anything to that, waiting for him to get to the point.

After an awkward silence, Longbottom did. “She told me what you did – that you helped her out. I wanted to say…thank you.” He looked down at his feet, the top of his head the only thing Michael could see now.

“You noticed something was wrong?” Michael closed the book, bending over it, heels tapping against the wall.

Longbottom tilted his head back, meeting Michael’s eyes. “She told me…after. I didn’t notice anything.” He sounded bitter about this.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Michael said quietly. “No one else noticed.”

Longbottom considered this for a moment before nodding, a wavering smile crossing his face. “Thanks, Wayne.”

Smiling back, Michael nodded in response, resettling against the window. He heard Longbottom walk away as he returned his attention to the book.

It wasn’t something Michael was used to, but being thanked… It was nice.

* * *

When it came time to signing up for three more classes, Michael selected Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes without thinking of it.

Justin and Ernie instantly told him he should sign up for Divination as it would be an easy class.

“I have no need for fortune-telling,” Michael said dismissively. “Discerning the future isn’t as easy as you would make it out to be.”

“That means it should be easy for you, shouldn’t it?” Justin protested.

Michael gave him a look. “It is highly likely that I would  _actually_  fall asleep.”

“What about the whole prophetic nature of divining the future?” Ernie asked.

“Prophecies are what you make of them,” Michael said. “They...don’t have to be true.”

He regretted what it had cost him to learn that lesson every single day.

* * *

The rest of second year passed by without incident except for the point where Potter and his friends had the unfortunate luck of stumbling across Lockhart’s nasty secret. No one really knew what happened after that, but it was undeniably clear that Lockhart had been on the wrong end of a Memory Charm and they were down another Defense teacher.

Naturally, no one was upset by this except for Lockhart’s most stalwart fans. The only issue was that no one had any idea what kind of professor they would have next year.

“Maybe it’ll be an old guy who can’t hear,” Justin suggested.

“It could be a woman who only wants to sew,” Susan offered.

“Why not someone competent?” Ginny asked.

“The curse on the position has been there for so long it’s really unlikely anyone will want to do it,” Ernie told her. “It’s probably why Lockhart was hired to begin with. He was the only sap who wanted to do it.”

“Let’s hope next year’s sap isn’t as bad,” Susan said.

Michael didn’t really have an opinion on the matter, but this year’s classes had been rather entertaining, even if his friends would probably smack him over the head with a book if he said as much. Yet for the sake of his friends’ education, he did hope next year’s professor would be more educated on actual defense, not showboating.

* * *

When Ginny joined them in their train compartment on the ride back from Hogwarts, she was accompanied by Longbottom and a girl with dirty blonde hair and wide silvery eyes.

“D’you mind if my friends join you?” Ginny asked Michael, head tilting back to the newcomers.

Michael shook his head, gesturing briefly to the benches. His friends scooted closer, Susan and Hannah making room for Ginny and the other girl. Ernie and Justin moved closer to Michael to free space for Longbottom, and Michael moved Dane into his lap, who made only a mildly disgruntled noise.

“This is Neville,” Ginny said gesturing to Longbottom – Neville now, Michael supposed. “And Luna.”

“You’re Ravenclaw?” Hannah asked Luna.

“I am,” Luna said, voice light and rather absentminded. Her eyes were on Michael, soul shining brightly behind them. “And you’re Hufflepuff.”

“All we’re missing is a Slytherin,” Justin said offhandedly.

“Please don’t invite Malfoy,” Ernie said. “We don’t have room.”

Neville coughed, eyebrows scrunching.

“Is that the only excuse you have?” Ginny asked. “That you don’t have room?”

“He’s friends with Wayne,” Ernie told Ginny, longsuffering. “Has been since first year.”

Neville turned to Michael, eyes wide. “You’re friends with  _Malfoy_?”

“Acquaintances,” Michael corrected.

“Friends,” his friends disagreed.

“Malfoy listens to you,” Justin said to Michael. “It’s really weird.”

Michael almost refuted this before realizing that Justin had a point. Following a few slip-ups earlier that year, Michael had specifically told Malfoy not to use slurs around him, and after a few mishaps, Malfoy hadn’t done so anymore. And everyone knew what had happened that time Malfoy had called Granger a mudblood and Weasley had tried to curse him, only for the curse to backfire.

Malfoy had found it absolutely hysterical until realizing that Michael wasn’t laughing and actually looked rather angry.

Ernie and Justin had told him it looked rather like he was going to do nasty things to Malfoy. Michael had declined to comment on the matter.

“You have really pretty wings,” Luna said, eyes skimming the air around Michael’s vessel. “They’re like fire.”

Michael stiffened, eyes narrowing slightly.

“What do you mean?” Neville sounded confused, glancing between Michael and Luna. “Wings?”

“Oh, is it a secret?” Luna put a hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” Michael forced himself to relax, giving Luna a small smile. “What are you seeing?” It was highly unusual that a human could see even an inkling of an angel’s true form when they were in their vessel. But it might have had something to do with her magic.

“You’re just…bright.” Luna’s eyes were round. “So bright. Like…a sprite.”

Michael chuckled, the sound startling his friends. “I suppose they’re rather bright, aren’t they? And flighty.”

“Yes,” Luna agreed, smiling brightly. “Are you one?”

“Oh my God,” Justin mouthed, looking up at the ceiling in disbelief, only to grunt a second later when Ginny kicked him in the leg.

“That depends,” Michael said to Luna. “Do you think I’m one?”

“Wayne, you’re twelve,” Susan said. “Stop flirting.”

“Wait, this is flirting?” Ernie sounded just a bit bewildered. “I thought this was his weird way of making friends.”

Luna studied Michael for a minute. “No,” she decided finally. “I’ll find out.”

“But you’re not a sprite,” Neville said, confused. “You’re human.”

Michael didn’t answer, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smile.

Neville didn’t seem to understand. “What does that mean?”

“Neville, mate…” Ernie leaned in closer to him. “I’ve learned it’s better not to ask how weird Wayne can get. Trust me.”

Frowning, Neville leaned back. “…Okay.”

Surrounded by the warm and happy souls of these children, Michael relaxed, hand sinking into Dane’s fur.

Summer would be different this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's COS, and POA isn't going to differ too drastically except for a few ways. This is the first major deviance Michael has made, and I'm sure Harry is going to appreciate this in some distant way once he realizes how many times he didn't have to risk his neck.
> 
> I also have no clue what is flirting, and neither does Michael, so there's nothing intended here. Susan has a twelve-year-old's grasp of flirting, so don't take her too seriously.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought!


	3. Third Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise update! Which, er, is rather overdue? Sorry! Fourth Year still isn't done, although I've made more headway into it. Either way, it's been long enough so I'm updating with the completed chapter! I can't make any promises for when the next chapter will be out, but please know that this story isn't going to be abandoned even if I don't update it for another several months. Sometimes I have update schedules depending on if the story is finished or almost finished, but this one...isn't. So I don't have a schedule.
> 
> In any case, we have 11,000 words of Michael's third year shenanigans, which is dosed with humor and angst. There's also some discussion on Houses! Which you'll notice once you get there. :P
> 
> The sequel to Redemption has started posting as well! The Last Archangel: Ouroboros will next update on Monday.
> 
> Happy reading!

Smiting the basilisk and that vile spirit had woken something in Michael – a desire, an  _urge_  to do something more. Something other than hide his true self and smile in the face of adults who called themselves his parents.

And he remembered what Justin had asked him last year.

Finding a miracle to perform wasn’t difficult. There were countless prayers every single day – not all of them to Michael – but he heard them all regardless of designation. The question was which one to answer.

As difficult as it was for humans to accept, there were reasons for the things that happened to them. Illnesses, death, injuries… They had things to learn, ways to grow, and Michael wouldn’t interfere with such things unless the asker was fully aware and consenting of what they asked.

There was a little girl asking for her cat to be healed of an ailment. It was a simple obstruction in the cat’s bowels, easily enough healed.

The next prayer was from a teenager in the last stages of leukemia. Michael stepped into his hospital room, healing the sickness and making sure it wouldn’t happen again.

He didn’t stop there, going wherever the prayers took him, investigating each case carefully before deciding if he should interfere or not.

In the daytime he was back in England, spending time with Eleanor and Alan and pretending to be their son. It was awkward and stilted, but they didn’t seem to notice anything was amiss.

Michael answered prayers again the next night. And again the night after that.

It was…amazing.

He hadn’t expected it to feel like this, but it  _did_. It was the feeling of doing something he knew down to his core was right, was what Father would have wanted him to do. And it wasn’t something someone had  _told_  him to do. It was something he’d  _chosen_.

It was absolutely exhilarating, and Michael never wanted to stop.

Eleanor and Alan noticed Michael’s change in mood over the next several weeks, although they didn’t seem to know what had caused it. But they were smiling more and Eleanor drew Michael in several times to give him cooking lessons, Alan joining in to share his own recipes.

Things continued in this vein until one morning, the Daily Prophet announced the news of Sirius Black’s escape.

Michael hadn’t considered it important, but Eleanor had paled upon seeing the news before drawing Alan into his study for a quiet conversation that Michael couldn’t help but overhear.

Alan seemed confused about Eleanor’s fear, but when she went into more detail as to what Black had done, he understood what had her so frightened.

Skimming the article, Michael found the same information in there that Eleanor had just told Alan. He didn’t really see why wizards would be so worried about an escaped wizard who had killed thirteen people. Voldemort had killed far more, and he was still wandering the world without anyone panicking.

There were deadlier humans out there, wizard or not.

“I want you to be careful this year,” Eleanor told Michael once she came out of the study. “Please.”

Michael glanced at the article, gaze lingering on the moving image of Sirius Black screaming soundlessly. “All right,” he said, smiling lopsidedly at her. “I will be.”

But it wasn’t as easy as that as Susan’s letter a week later explained.

There would be Dementors at Hogwarts this year as a protective measure, since the minister believed that Black would be going after Potter. Susan’s aunt wasn’t quite as sure of this, but the order had been given and the Dementors would be coming.

He’d heard of Dementors before while he’d been human, but he’d never thought he’d have the chance to see one.

“I don’t like this,” Eleanor said when the news was officially released. “But if it works…”

“I’ll be careful,” Michael said before Eleanor could ask again, gently laying a hand on her arm. He squeezed it briefly before letting go.

“Sometimes wizards really make me wonder,” Alan said, pushing his glasses up his nose as he reread the article. “Whose brilliant idea was it to station these things at a school filled with children?”

“Our esteemed minister,” Eleanor answered acerbically. “I just hope it works out.”

Michael personally didn’t really think it would. It was nice to hear that his friends thought the same once they were back on the train.

“He’s barmy,” Susan told Hannah as they entered the compartment. “Absolutely  _mad_. This is going to be awful.”

Luna’s greeting was an airy, “Good morning, angel.”

“Decided, have we?” Michael leaned his elbow against the window sill.

“Oh yes,” Luna agreed, not seeming to see Ginny’s incredulous stare. “Do you mind?”

Michael shook his head slightly in answer at the same time Neville opened the door, clutching Trevor in one hand. He gave them all a shaky smile as he sat down next to Ginny.

“So,” Ernie started once everyone was present and settled, “how was summer?”

“You literally saw me one day ago,” Susan told him, unimpressed.

“I didn’t see them,” Ernie protested, gesturing to the others, not seeming to care that this was mostly a lie since they had almost all been present for Michael’s birthday party.

“It was nice,” Luna added, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “We went abroad to look for sprites after I told Dad about him.” She gestured at Michael.

Hannah tilted her head curiously. “Did you find anything?”

“No.” Luna didn’t sound at all disappointed about this. “But we’ll look again next year.”

Clearing his throat, Justin held out a pack of cards. “Exploding Snap, anyone?”

* * *

When the trolley rolled around, everyone bought a little something before returning to the game. They continued until it was time for them to change into their robes. At that point the weather outside had changed from sunny to cloudy and drizzly.

Michael felt a chill creeping through the walls of the train, but it was mild enough that it didn’t concern him.

But then the train jerked to a halt, brakes squealing loudly.

Hannah grabbed hold of Michael, bracing herself against the inertia.

They weren’t moving, and Michael could sense the worry and confusion radiating from the other students. Along with something dark and foul that had him holding his breath.

Susan leaned over Ernie to peer outside the window. “We’ve stopped…but I don’t see anything.” She glanced at Michael. “Do you?”

Unwilling to inhale, Michael shook his head. There was nothing to see, but he could  _feel_  it.

So dark and foul and disgusting that he wanted nothing more than to blast it off the face of existence. Something that seemed to suck in everything around it to fill in the  _absence_  of something that should have been there.

And it was coming closer and closer.

Shaking off Hannah’s hand, Michael stood, stepping to the door.

“What’s wrong?” Ginny asked, hushed.

Michael still didn’t answer, not wanting to breathe in the scent of rot and decay and darkness and  _nothing_  that he could feel pressing in on him. He reached out to grip the edge of the door, fingers tightening briefly with a crunching noise when he heard a rattling noise.

It was so cold. The windows were icing over, steam escaping his friends’ mouths as they breathed.

The approaching figure was clad in a black cloak, a hood hiding its face from view. But there was no hiding the despair and cold radiating off it, along with the stretched out skin on its skeletal hands, like parchment paper. No hiding the way its presence seemed to  _reach_  and sap the energy from his Grace.

And it—

_He had lost count of the years, lost count of how long they had been here in the silence. Lost count of the pain Lucifer had inflicted on him before finally stopping. Lost count of all the prayers he had sent to a silent Father._

_It. Was. So. **Cold**. And Lucifer even colder, freezing Michael’s Grace whenever he touched it._

_He didn’t understand why—_

_Failedfailedfailed_

_He had **failed**._

_What had he done?_

_Wasn’t he the good son? The one who listened? The one who followed orders?_

_Whathadhedonewhathadhedone_

_“ Nononono—”_

_“ Stop, sibling, STOP—”_

Michael jerked back to himself in the middle of blackness, stunned and frozen. It took an unbearably long time before he realized he was in outer space, not lost in nothingness.

There was no reason why—

The Dementor.

Michael had no idea that it would affect him like that. The way its power had just snuck into his Grace and pulled out some of his worst memories.

He had no idea what had happened after that, but since he was  _here_  now…

Worry pulsing through him, Michael located Earth and the compartment he had fled. There was an older man in it, so Michael hovered at the fringes of reality, curling in on himself in lingering shock and horror at the sight of what he had done.

The windows were shattered – all of them along the length of the entire train – and the Dementor was nothing but a black smear along the opposite side of the compartment his friends were in. His friends were shaky, bewildered, and lost, blood leaking out of their ears.

What had he  _done_?

He’d never lost control like this before. He could have killed them all.

Unwilling to face them after what he had done – after what had nearly happened – Michael fled.

* * *

There were Dementors all over Hogwarts. Michael couldn’t even go two feet without feeling something vile and  _wrong_  press against his Grace, sucking in the light he constantly emitted.

But there were no repeats of what had happened on the train. Now that he knew what a Dementor could do – even to  _him_  – he was prepared. Yes, it was cold. Yes, he could still hear the screams of his brother. Yes, he could still feel what it had been like to have a sword driven through his heart.

But he wasn’t lost in the memories anymore, though he couldn’t help but destroy the creatures that came closest to touching him.

Father would never have permitted these creatures to exist – would never have thought to  _Create_  them, not after what happened with the Leviathan. So Michael had no idea how such foul creatures had come into being, how they had been able to congregate on this planet without fear of being destroyed and were actually being  _used_  by the wizards.

When he could no longer stand being around the Dementors, Michael went to an isolated corner of the planet, where there was nothing but the wind and animals to disturb him.

Then, he curled up against a tree and just…

Was.

* * *

_Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come…uh…okay, damn it. Michael, I hope you’re not dead. Please don’t be dead._

_I hope I’m doing this right… Michael, I hope you can hear this, wherever you are. I don’t think you’re dead, but you’re doing a pretty good impression of it. We’re okay, but you scared the bloody shit out of us._

_Are you hiding from us, Michael? Did something happen? Other than the whole “exploding a Dementor into itsy-little bits” and blowing the train up, I mean. You don’t have to hide._

_We’re worried, Michael. Ginny and Neville have been asking questions, and we don’t know what to say. Neville thinks you’re dead – accidental magic. Ginny knows something else happened, but you didn’t tell her, did you? Please….come back._

_Hello, angel… I hope you don’t mind me sending a little prayer to you, but I wanted to let you know that we all miss you and would like you to come back. You don’t have to be scared of us. We’re all fine, and none of us blame you for what happened. Dementors…are frightening. What…did you remember? You don’t have to say, but…I was just wondering._

The prayers weren’t unwelcome…but Michael had no particular desire to respond to them. They weren’t the only ones he received, as his friends continued praying to him in hopes that he would come back.

They didn’t seem to be angry at him, but then they had no idea how close they had come to escaping death.  _Michael_  knew, and he couldn’t forgive himself the lapse in control. How a Dementor had caused that to happen…

They would never do so again.

As more time passed, Michael reminded himself that he wasn’t a coward. He had made mistakes before, ones much worse than this, and he had always faced the consequences.

This was no different.

So Michael went back, slipping past the ranks of Dementors and into Hogwarts, stepping into the nearly empty Common Room.

The few children there didn’t look up at the rustle of wings that signaled Michael’s arrival, and he moved forward to the fireplace, sinking to his knees besides the flames, letting them warm his skin.

It didn’t take long before a furry body rubbed alongside him, Dane making his presence known.

Scratching under his chin and behind his ears, Michael exhaled in relief. Dane was fine. He hadn’t hurt him.

He shouldn’t be so attached to such a small creature, but Dane was innocent in ways that humans weren’t. It was…easy – effortless – to love him the way Father had intended His creations to be loved.

Dane curled up in his lap, purring nonstop as Michael continued running his fingers through his fur. The repetitive motions were soothing, so much so that Michael didn’t expect four people to sit down around him, radiating utter relief.

“You have  _no_  idea how good it is to see you,” Justin told Michael, nudging his shoulder. He seemed rather like he wanted to hug Michael but didn’t quite know how to go about doing so.

“You’re not dead,” Susan said crisply. “Good.”

“Seriously, mate…” Ernie reached out to touch Michael on the arm, the touch light. “We were worried.”

“There’ve been a lot of letters from your parents,” Hannah said quietly. “We didn’t know what to do…”

Michael stared into the fire, watching the flames flicker, before turning to them and asking, “What month is it?”

“You don’t know?” Susan asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Michael shrugged, not willing to explain that he really had no need to keep track of it. Everything was the same at this point, everything running into one unless he paid attention. It was only when…

“It’s November,” Justin answered after an awkward moment. “A – a lot’s happened.”

Nodding, Michael closed his eyes briefly, skimming over time to tweak it slightly. “No doubt. You can tell me everything.”

His friends didn’t answer immediately, staring at him expectantly.

When they didn’t say anything else, Michael sighed. “What?”

“That’s it?” Susan sounded vaguely incredulous. “You’re not going to explain what all that was about? What happened on the train? You’re just going to leave it at that?”

Lips thinning, Michael glanced at Dane, fingers tightening in his fur. “All right,” he said finally, the words curt. “But I’m not explaining it more than once.”

“I thought you were  _dead_ ,” Neville managed, two minutes into seeing Michael alive and well and a minute into Ginny trying to squeeze the breath out of him.

“I’m not,” Michael said simply, bringing one arm up to hug Ginny back gently.

“Yeah…” Neville didn’t seem to be able to say anything else, brow scrunching in confusion.

They were in a private classroom, no one willing to go outside with the Dementors on the grounds. Even so, Michael could feel the chill the creatures brought with them and the  _nothing_  that was at their core.

The warmth was already missed.

When Ginny eventually pulled away, suspiciously bright-eyed, Michael leaned back against a desk, hands gripping the edge. “That wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said evenly, meeting all their eyes.

“We gathered,” Ernie said. “What was  _supposed_  to happen?”

“Nothing.” Michael closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as a Dementor came close to the school. “I hadn’t expected them to have such an effect.”

“I’m confused,” Neville said slowly. “If you weren’t dead, where  _were_  you? And what happened? Because that – that was an insane amount of magic.”

“It wasn’t magic,” Ginny said suddenly. “That’s what you said before, right? It’s – it’s Grace.”

Michael inclined his head. “Yes. I…” He looked between Neville, Ginny, and Luna. “I owe you an explanation.”

“It would be nice,” Ginny said, shooting his older friends a look. “They’ve been behaving rather dodgy.”

“My name is Michael,” Michael said plainly. “I’m…what humans would call an angel.”

Luna twirled her hair around her finger, Ginny frowned, and Neville mouthed the words as if trying to make sense of them.

“Is this a prank?” Neville asked finally, eyes flying between Michael and the others.

“No.” Michael folded his arms, leaning more heavily against the desk.

“He doesn’t really joke,” Justin explained to Neville. “I can count the number of times he’s smiled on one hand, and they’re usually kind of creepy.”

“You didn’t tell me that before,” Ginny accused Michael. “Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t think it necessary,” Michael said honestly. “You knew something of what I was; there wasn’t any need to explain further.”

Ginny scowled but didn’t press for more. “That sounds like a stupid excuse.”

“But why are you pretending to be human?” Neville sounded bewildered.

“I  _was_  human,” Michael answered simply. “And now I’m not. They asked me to stay”—he inclined his head towards Justin and Ernie—“so I did.”

“It wasn’t as easy as that,” Ernie assured them. “He was all ready to go flying off and making us forget he ever existed.”

Since this was completely true, Michael didn’t react beyond raising his eyebrows at their startled looks.

“You can  _do_  that?” Neville eyed him warily.

“So can wizards,” Michael pointed out. “Look at what Lockhart did to himself.” Softening his tone, he continued, “It’s all right, Neville. I won’t be doing that.”

“It makes sense,” Ginny said slowly. “I mean…if it wasn’t magic, and you call it Grace…you’re not going to be human.” She shot a glance at Luna. “Do you really have wings?”

“Yes.”

“They’re beautiful,” Luna said dreamily. “Like fire and light and the universe itself.”

Michael had never heard his wings described as such, but then none of his siblings had ever been particularly poetic.

“Now you’re making me wish I can see them,” Hannah said, jealous.

“Not everyone sees them the same,” Michael said. “It all depends on perception.” Turning to Susan, he raised an eyebrow. “What’s happened since term began?”

Susan made a face. “Don’t give me that look! You still haven’t explained what really happened. What set you off so badly?”

Michael stiffened, jaw tightening. “You do know what a Dementor does, don’t you?”

“What – oh.” Susan flushed, eyes dropping. “Sorry. I…I suppose I thought it might have affected you differently.”

Michael raised his eyebrows, choosing not to respond to that.

“You don’t have to tell us what it made you remember,” Luna said softly. “But if you ever decide to…” She shrugged, detangling the strand of hair that was around her finger. “I remembered my mum…”

“It wasn’t anything specific,” Justin said slowly, “but it was more… _feelings_.”

“Bloody awful is what it was,” Ernie said, grimacing. “I’ve never felt so depressed in my life.”

Susan and Hannah nodded stiffly, eyes on the floor.

“I…” Ginny’s eyes were glittering, her hands curled into fists at her sides. “It was Tom,” she managed, the words tight. “And what he made me do.” She ignored the looks the others shot her, gaze on Michael.

He had no idea how to respond, their confessions bewildering. There was no reason they should tell him how they’d been affected, unless they wanted to coax out his own story. But there were no ulterior motives behind their words, just a desire to share what had been a terrifying experience.

They were all looking at him, faces expectant and nervous, though Ernie and Justin looked rather resigned.

Wasn’t the old law an eye for an eye?

Sighing, Michael deliberately let the tension ease from his shoulders, drawing them down. “It was my family,” he said quietly, not meeting their eyes.

It was Justin who seemed to realize what Michael was referring to, his mouth dropping open in a silent “ _oh_.” His voice was hushed when he said, “You mean…that actually happened? That whole thing with – with Lucifer?”

Michael suppressed a flinch at the name – at the reminder of his mistakes. “There are some things that book has right,” he managed, voice carefully even.

“Lucifer?” Ernie glanced between Justin and Michael, confused.

Shaking his head, Michael changed the subject. “What happened this year?”

Seeming to realize that Michael didn’t want to talk about Lucifer and anything associated with it, his friends thankfully followed the change in subject to fill him in on what had happened while he’d been gone.

“Sirius Black was in Hogwarts on Halloween,” Neville said, voice wavering slightly. “He almost made it into Gryffindor’s Common Room, but he didn’t know the password.”

“No one found him,” Ginny added, “and we still don’t know where he is or how he got in. I’ve seen Harry moping around because the professors won’t let him into Hogsmeade.”

Michael vaguely remembered Eleanor talking about a permission slip that she’d signed and sent to the professors.

“It’s not like it’s really safe for him out there,” Susan pointed out. “He had a really awful reaction to the Dementors.”

“With that many, you can’t blame him,” Ernie said. He turned to Michael to explain. “They joined the Quidditch match. Potter fell off his broom before he could catch the Snitch.”

“The Dementors…joined the Quidditch match?”

“He means they swarmed the pitch and pissed Dumbledore off,” Justin clarified. “He was furious.”

“Almost makes you see what made You-Know-Who fear him,” Susan said. “I suppose it’s a good thing you weren’t there, then.”

“That’s about it, really,” Ginny said.

“And Malfoy’s been hanging around looking for you,” Ernie said. “We’ve been putting him off, but there’s only so many times we can say you’re sick and that you’re magically cured before Malfoy goes to the Hospital Wing.” He made a face. “Which is saying a lot since he’s only just ‘recovered’ from that hippogriff’s attack.”

“Professor Sprout’s been asking after you,” Hannah said. “She’s really worried. So are your parents.”

“It’s fine,” Michael said, the corner of his mouth ticking up in response to their incredulous stares. “Really. I’ve tweaked it so that they think I’ve been here all along.”

“You… _tweaked_  it?” Susan’s eyebrows had disappeared.

Michael shrugged, amusement curling through him at their disbelief and sheer incredulity. “You’ll see.”

“I don’t believe this,” Neville muttered, shaking his head. “Why me?”

Michael didn’t point out that it was Neville who had introduced himself to Michael and allowed Ginny to pull him into the train compartment.

“We’re glad you’re all right,” Justin told Michael quietly. “You had us worried there.”

“There was no need to be worried.”

“It’s not like we knew that. All we knew was that you blasted a Dementor to bits and then went off without so much of a warning, leaving us to deal with all the questions about why our ears were bleeding and who vaporized a Dementor and destroyed all the windows.”

Michael frowned at the reminder. “I’m sorry.” He reached out, pressing his fingers to Justin’s head before the other could react, checking that everything was fine. “You seem to have recovered.” He didn’t mention that it could have been so much worse – that he could have killed everyone on that train without even realizing.

There were some things his friends didn’t have to know.

* * *

“So, er… You have other siblings, right?”

Michael looked at Justin in confusion. “Is there a reason you’re asking me this?”

“Well, I mean…” Justin scratched the side of his neck, glancing at the base of the fireplace. “You confirmed that Lucifer actually existed, that it happened… I was just wondering if you had other family. We don’t know that much about you.”

Michael glanced over Justin’s shoulder to where his other three friends were hovering. Sighing, he leaned more heavily against the stone wall next to the fireplace. “I have family, if that’s what you mean,” he said dryly, turning away from them.

“You don’t have to talk about them,” Justin said, “but if you wanted to…” He drifted off meaningfully.

Remembering the Host, what had happened to his brethren…it stung. It wasn’t something Michael wanted to remember, but… There had been happy times, too. Back before everything had gone wrong, when it had just been him and Father, and then the other three archangels.

“I was the first,” Michael started slowly, voice soft. He didn’t look at them, but he could hear them settling in to listen. “And for the longest time, it was only me. Lucifer was next.” And ne had been Samael then. Lucifer had come after, the name chosen by nem when everything had gone wrong. “I raised him.” He’d told Dean this, back when he’d still thought that the apocalypse would succeed. “Taught him everything I knew.”

Exhaling, Michael dropped his gaze to the fire. “When Raphael was created, I did the same. The youngest of us – of the archangels – was Gabriel. Lucifer raised him, taught him everything I had and more.”

Shifting his weight backwards, Michael continued speaking, the memories just as vivid as they had ever been. “The rest of our siblings followed soon after, once Father had an idea of what He needed. It was our job to guide them, make sure they learned what they needed to.”

When he didn’t immediately continue, Hannah asked quietly, “What were they like? The other archangels?”

It was difficult to put into words what they had been like during that time – when the universe had been young and their responsibilities light. It was impossible to go back to that time, and yet Michael found himself wishing – however idly – that it was even remotely possible.

“Lucifer was so bright,” Michael answered finally. “The brightest of us. He was creative, always willing to try something new, push the boundaries of what we had been taught. And…prideful.” It had been that pride that had resulted in the Fall. “Raphael was…quiet. We could all heal, but Raphael – Raphael was the best.”

And…Gabriel. Michael closed his eyes, pushing aside memories of cold to focus on the light. “Gabriel was – he was the best of us. Bright, curious, creative… Do you know…the platypus was his idea?”

“What – really?” Justin sounded incredulous. “That…thing?”

“I know,” Michael said, unable to resist a small grin. “I thought much the same, but it was done. It wasn’t the last thing Father let him design. Gabriel was never one to follow the rules.”

“He sounds like a Ravenclaw,” Susan said.

Michael had never really considered it, but now that Susan mentioned it, he couldn’t help but think which houses the Hat would put his siblings in. Gabriel would fit in well with Ravenclaw, but…

“No,” he said finally. “Hufflepuff, I think. He was always loyal.” Family had always been too important for Gabriel, so much so that he had left. “But Gryffindor would suit him as well.” It took courage to stand up against someone who could kill him without much effort, and Gabriel had done so multiple times.

“What about the others?” Ernie sounded curious.

“Raphael would be Slytherin.” Raphael had always been determined to get the job done, no matter what it required.

But Lucifer… Bright, curious Lucifer… Ravenclaw? Or…

It had been love for their Father that had caused Lucifer to rebel, Michael knew. It had been a resistance to being told to love something else  _more_  that had been the last straw, along with a pride that he knew best.

“Hufflepuff,” Michael said quietly, “but Ravenclaw would suit him as well.”

He didn’t name Lucifer, but his friends seemed to understand all the same.

“The Devil doesn’t go in Slytherin?” Justin sounded just a bit amused. “Fancy that.”

“He wasn’t always the Devil,” Michael said curtly, his arms dropping to his sides. “He wasn’t the only one of us who chose to rebel, just the most influential.”

Done with this conversation, Michael left without another word, seeking the quiet and warmth of a place without Dementors.

Remembering his siblings – remembering a  _happier_  time – had been nice…but it wasn’t something Michael wanted to do again.

* * *

“Do you have a lot more siblings?” Neville asked Michael out of the blue several days later.

Michael counted to five before slowly turning to Neville, raising an eyebrow to silently ask if Neville really was serious. He then turned that eyebrow to his sheepish looking friends, who suddenly found their shoelaces very interesting.

“We just thought they should know,” Hannah murmured, scuffing her shoe against the stone floor.

“I have a lot, yes,” Michael answered finally. “But it isn’t like a human family, Neville.”

“Oh.” Neville chewed his lower lip.

“Well, you’re not human,” Luna pointed out plainly.

“No,” Michael agreed, his lips ticking up slightly in a small smile. “I’m not.”

“I won’t ask again,” Neville said in a small voice.

Seeing how guilty and awful Neville looked, Michael felt a twinge of guilt. It wasn’t as if they knew why he didn’t like talking about the Host – about the mistakes he had made. It wasn’t their fault he didn’t like it.

“It isn’t a subject I enjoy talking about,” Michael said finally, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t ask questions; I can’t promise I’ll answer.”

Since they were in a relatively public area, they didn’t really ask anything else. Still, it was impossible to ignore the excitement radiating off them.

Perhaps an open-ended offer wasn’t the best idea after all.

* * *

The first class Michael had with Lupin, he realized two things: Lupin was the best teacher they’d had since he came to Hogwarts, and he was a werewolf.

He didn’t really know why he was even surprised at this point. Dumbledore had shown absolutely no qualms in allowing Voldemort to go waltzing under his nose and had hired one of the most inept teachers Michael had the privilege of knowing in his existence. So why not a werewolf?

The thing was…it wasn’t as if Lupin was a bad person. He was…tired. Sick. In pain.

But he was also fiercely protective of his students, Potter more so than others.

Lupin reminded Michael so much of himself that it was discomfiting.

* * *

“ _There_  you are!” Malfoy fell into step with Michael, giving him an aggrieved look. “I’ve been looking for you!”

Michael shrugged, thumbing the straps of his book bag. “I’ve been right here.”

“But we haven’t  _talked_ ,” Malfoy complained.

“We’re talking now,” Michael pointed out, lips twitching slightly when Malfoy shot him a displeased glare.

“Are we still studying together?” Malfoy demanded. “You’ve been dodging me since we started this year.”

Michael dropped his eyes to the bandages on Malfoy’s arm, lingering on it pointedly before meeting Malfoy’s eyes. “I thought you were in too much agony to join us.” Malfoy flinched despite his mild tone, averting his eyes.

“I can still study,” Malfoy muttered.

“I’m sure.” Michael stopped, pulling Malfoy to the side of the hallway to let the other students pass by unimpeded. “Is there a reason you decided to exaggerate this?” He tapped Malfoy’s healed arm, raising an eyebrow. “Or was it just out of spite?”

Malfoy’s cheeks flushed, and he jerked his arm out of Michael’s reach. “That oaf deserved it!” he snapped. “What was he expecting – bringing hippogriffs in like that?”

“And you did nothing to provoke them?” Michael kept his voice calm, his stance relaxed.

“He—”

Michael raised his eyebrows. “Don’t lie. Not to me.”

Malfoy’s mouth snapped shut, eyes dropping to his feet. Swallowing, he said nothing for a long moment, perhaps hoping that Michael would speak again. But Michael didn’t move, gaze fixed on Malfoy’s face.

Finally, Malfoy met Michael’s eyes again, jaw set. “You don’t have any right to give me that look! What do you even care? Anyone like him is dangerous. It isn’t like Granger and Finch-Fletchley! That oaf isn’t  _human_!”

“He has feelings and thoughts like you,” Michael said quietly. “Maybe he isn’t entirely human, but does that matter? At his core, he’s like you.”

“He’s  _nothing_  like me,” Malfoy snapped furiously, baring his teeth. He pushed past Michael, shoulder bumping into him in a way that was probably intended to knock Michael off balance but only served to bruise himself. Not even shooting Michael a glance, Malfoy stalked off.

Sighing, Michael didn’t even know why he bothered. He had the feeling that the study sessions with Malfoy were now on indefinite hold, and he didn’t know why that bothered him so much.

* * *

The remaining weeks until the term was over passed quickly, though a problem rose quickly. Something was interfering with time, looping it around on itself like an intricate little knot, a dozen little paradoxes that had to be completed lest the knot unravel completely. It wasn’t even just one time or two; it had bothered him the moment he came back to Hogwarts.

But Michael had barely noticed it before running into the source during Ancient Runes. It was Hermione Granger, and the source of her time traveling was tucked under her robes like it was a  _necklace_.

Disbelieving, Michael couldn’t help but  _stare_ , not even looking away as the professor nattered on about the basic runes. Granger didn’t seem to notice his fixation, but that was largely because she was taking diligent notes.

The fact that wizards had something developed that could mess with time was troubling. The fact that a  _child_  was in possession of one of these devices was even more troubling. The idea that the child was using the device to go back in time and  _take more classes_  was the most troubling, since time shouldn’t be rewound for such trivial things.

It shouldn’t be rewound at all. And not by  _humans_.

Halfway through the class, Granger turned to him to hiss, “Is there something on my face?”

Michael blinked at her, eyes dropping to the device nestled at her breastbone. “No.”

“Then stop staring at me!” With a huff, Granger returned her attention to the professor.

Michael didn’t, but he was a bit more discreet about it, studying Granger’s aura more carefully. The multiple time streams Granger was part of clung to her closely, and Michael could already tell when exactly she’d have to turn back time to set time back on course.

It was miraculous that nothing had gone awry with this magic, and it definitely wasn’t Michael’s doing.

When he met up with his Hufflepuff friends later following their Divinations lesson, he must have had something on  _his_  face since they instantly stopped and gave him assessing looks.

“Did something happen?” Ernie asked.

Michael’s lips thinned, his voice strained as he answered, “Granger’s messing with  _time_.”

“What do you mean messing with time?”

“Exactly what I mean,” Michael said sharply. “She’s going back in time and taking other classes.”

The others exchanged glances, all of them looking rather like something had just hit them in the head.

“So  _that’s_  how she’s doing it,” Susan said, sounding rather mollified. “I knew something was strange!”

“A time-turner?” Ernie’s eyebrows disappeared into his fringe. “I wouldn’t have thought the Ministry would hand those out for this.”

“You shouldn’t have those at  _all_ ,” Michael said tightly.

“Why not?” Susan demanded. “It’s just magic. They’ve researched it carefully! They know what they’re doing—”

“Your grasp of time and all its intricacies is so juvenile that even a pagan would laugh,” Michael snapped. “You’re lucky that you haven’t completely unraveled time with your meddling.”

“It can’t be  _that_  bad,” Justin objected. “They wouldn’t have created it if they didn’t have  _some_  idea of what it meant!”

Michael couldn’t help but snort derisively. “You humans created the atomic bomb with little idea of what the consequences would be. Wizards are no different despite the magic they wield.”

“And you could do so much better?” Susan snapped.

“I am not as you are, Susan,” Michael said softly. “What I am isn’t within the limits of your comprehension, and certainly not within the limits of  _time_. I can bend it to my will if I choose, but only if I must.”

“So what are you going to do?” Hannah asked, placing a gentle hand on Susan’s arm before she could say anything else.

Michael inhaled slowly, attention flickering to where Granger was in the castle. “I would destroy it all if it was my decision.” The words came slowly, Michael not meeting their eyes. “But that you  _did_  manage it and weren’t punished…Father must have a reason.” He  _must_  have, even if Michael couldn’t see it.

“You mean…God?” Justin whispered, checking to see if anyone was listening.

Michael didn’t bother to give that an answer, simply raising an eyebrow.

“So that’s it, then?” Susan huffed, crossing her arms with an indignant air. “You’re upset but you’re not going to  _do_  anything about it? Because God said so?”

“He has His reasons,” Michael said, lifting his chin. “I won’t question them.”

“Even if time is unraveled?” Ernie asked sardonically.

“It isn’t as if I would be affected,” Michael said, mouth twisting into a brief smile at the panicked look the others shared. “If your kind destroys itself because of its meddling, it’s no fault of mine.”

Susan narrowed her eyes. “Well,” she said stiffly, “that’s one way of looking at it.”

Shrugging, Michael pushed past them, shutting the conversation down. There was no further need to discuss what had already been decided. He would trust that his Father had a plan in mind.

* * *

Even with the Dementors’ unnatural presence and chill suffusing every inch of Hogwarts by the time December came, life went on within Hogwarts. Michael didn’t go outside unless it was to someplace far away from the shores of Scotland, even when his friends tried to entice him with the many wonders of Hogsmeade.

It got the point where Michael seriously considered going after Black just to get the Dementors away from Hogwarts. What stayed his hand was that it wasn’t his job to solve the wizards’ problems. If the Dementors threatened him again, he would react, but for now he would just stay away from them.

“Can’t you just—” Ernie made wiggly fingers in an attempt to demonstrate Michael’s smiting ability.

“It would raise more questions than I need.”

“Why do they affect you anyway?”

“They don’t anymore, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy being around them.” There was no need to describe just how they felt to him. “It’s for their own sake that I don’t come close to them.” Since he would quite happily smite them all from the face of the Earth. The only reason he wasn’t doing so was because they  _were_  here, and there must be  _some_  reason for it, even if Michael couldn’t see it.

So the Dementors would live. For now.

And Michael mentally counted down the days until he could leave Hogwarts without having to come back for mortal duties.

* * *

The routine of winter break was broken up rather unexpectedly when Neville invited Michael and his parents to his grandmother’s party. That Alan was a Muggle didn’t seem to concern the elderly Longbottom, and Eleanor made sure Alan was advised as to what was permissible and what wasn’t before they arrived.

The party was boisterous, loud, and warm, albeit still formal because it was hosted by a prominent pureblood family. Thankfully enough, Michael and Neville weren’t the only Hogwarts students there.

Neville had managed to invite all his friends to the party, even if not all their parents could attend, although Luna had declined for personal reasons. Justin’s parents were absent, as they didn’t feel comfortable attending a party for wizards.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Ernie said to Neville upon arriving, his tone suitably formal.

“Thank you for coming,” Neville responded just as formally.

“It’s so posh,” Justin said, craning his head back to look at the ceiling.

Hannah elbowed Justin in the side. “Don’t be rude.”

“But it is posh,” Ginny protested, inspecting her reflection in a nearby vase. “How do you get it so clean?”

Neville looked like he wanted to sink through the floor.

“I’ve seen posher,” Michael tried to assure him. It didn’t seem to help.

Ernie made a face, presumably at Michael’s lack of etiquette.

“Really?” Susan’s lips twitched. “Where?”

“They’ve crumbled to dust by now, but your ancestors had some beautiful architecture.” If pressed, Michael could paint pictures of the magnificent palaces, tombs, and houses that humans had built over the years.

His friends said nothing for a minute, exchanging meaningful glances and lip twitches that probably meant something.

Justin spoke next, hesitant. “You’ve been around a long time, then.”

Michael smiled faintly, amused. “You could say that.”

“How long would that be?” Susan asked.

“Since some time after the conception of the universe as you know it.” Michael leaned backwards, slightly curious as to where this line of questioning was going.

“You don’t have a date?”

Michael chuckled, grinning briefly. “Mortals invented the notion of time, Susan. There was no need to keep track of anything back then. It simply  _was_.”

“So you – your kind – angels – you don’t die?” Justin wet his lips, eyes flickering down before meeting Michael’s again.

“Not easily.” Michael had an inkling now of what they wanted to know. He closed his eyes, breathing out as remembered pain shot through his Grace.

“You were human before, though,” Justin said slowly. “As Wayne. How did that happen?”

Loud laughter from the other side of the room had Michael flinching despite himself, sudden cold pricking at his senses even though the room was warm. He didn’t look at his friends, eyes on the far wall.

“That isn’t a question I’ll answer,” Michael answered finally, soft.

_A sword sinking through his chest and a cold presence at his back, radiating an age-old pain. “And thank you, brother.”_

Michael jolted back into awareness, giving Justin a cursory glance before moving past his friends and off into the mansion. He stepped out of human sight the moment he could, stopping by a window to look outside.

“I suppose it’s not a good answer, then?” Michael heard Neville ask.

“Would  _you_  want to talk about how you died?” Ginny pointed out.

Michael pressed a hand to his sternum, feeling the beat of his human heart. There was no scar on his vessel, but he thought it might have been better if there was.

At least then he would have something to show for what had happened, not just a mark on his Grace.

* * *

The others didn’t ask Michael again about why he had been human, and he was grateful for it. He could tell they were still curious about it and why he didn’t want to talk about it, but that they left it alone – left  _him_  in peace – was more than he could have asked for.

Life at Hogwarts picked up like normal once again, and Michael resigned himself to once again being in the midst of the Dementors. His friends didn’t seem to care about their constant presence, their human senses not attuned enough to feel the nothingness, constant chill, and dreariness that the creatures brought with them.

Everything could have been normal except for Ginny and Neville looking displeased about an anomaly in their daily lives.

“Harry got a  _Firebolt_  for Christmas,” Ginny informed all of them in the library. “And Hermione told McGonagall, who had it confiscated. Now they’re not talking at  _all_.”

“And Hermione’s cat ate Ron’s rat,” Neville added.

“It’s a  _cat_!” Ginny protested. “It isn’t Hermione’s fault!”

“Would this cat happen to look like something sat on its face?” Ernie asked.

“Yes,” Ginny said. “Why?”

Michael could remember seeing that same cat snuggling up with Dane in the Hufflepuff Common Room a day ago, both of them clearly conspiring about something. He hadn’t bothered to find out what, since the minds of cats were beyond even him to comprehend.

Ernie shrugged, glancing at Michael. “No reason.”

“How it looks doesn’t matter,” Neville said mournfully. “But Ron keeps going on about that cat and how evil it is, and since his rat’s gone, no one can say that he’s overreacting.”

“Scabbers wasn’t looking well for  _ages_ ,” Ginny said. “But it’s a shame it happened like that.”

“Everything dies,” Luna said quietly.

Perhaps Hermione’s cat and Dane were conspiring about the rat? It was certainly possible.

“Is Malfoy coming back to study with us?” Justin asked Michael a moment later, kicking his leg under the table. He winced a second later.

“No,” Michael said, pulling his legs away from any further kicking attempts.

“If he can’t handle the truth, then that’s too bad for him,” Ginny said angrily. “You said nothing wrong.”

“I would’ve liked to see his face,” Ernie said wistfully.

“No more apology sweets unfortunately,” Hannah said, sighing.

“You sure those weren’t poisoned?” Susan said suspiciously.

“They didn’t get sick,” Michael said absentmindedly, waving his quill in Justin’s and Ernie’s direction.

He didn’t notice the appalled looks shot his way, too busy scribbling corrections in the margins of the book he was reading.

* * *

Michael had never regretted wandering through Hogwarts at night before, but he regretted it now.

 _Blood_.

So…much… _blood_.

It was sliding down his skin, dripping onto the stone floor with soft  _plops_ , and it was  _everywhere_.

Michael knew – rationally – that this wasn’t real. That this hadn’t happened. But it still gave him pause and sent frissons of horror through him at the sight because it was the blood of his younger sibling that was soaking clothes and pooling on the floor.

He hadn’t expected this when checking out Lupin’s office and the thing inside that chest.

The thing wearing his sibling’s face –  _Gabriel’s_  face – grinned, its teeth stained red. It was all the more macabre due to the blackened and blistering skin on one side of its face.

There was more, but it had never  _happened_. Gabriel had never looked like this in his vessel.

But if the injuries Lucifer had inflicted on him had actually carried over…

The creature didn’t speak, but it did tilt its head to the side, eyes piercing.

Michael didn’t know what this creature was intended for – why it had chosen  _this_  form when its true one was nothing but roiling mass of fear – but it had something to do with fear. There were many things Michael feared in his existence, but none more so than…

“Like what you see?” the creature said, somehow speaking despite the gruesome mess of its throat, muscle and skin ripped open like something had torn out the insides. Michael felt sick remembering how Lucifer had done it. “Oh, brother…but you aren’t that anymore, are you?”

“No.” The word slipped out before Michael could stop it, pleading.

“You abandoned us.” The creature’s voice rang with something that Michael remembered distantly as Gabriel’s voice when  _someone_  was speaking through him. “You abandoned  _me_. You’re no brother of mine.”

The words had Michael flinching despite himself, words that he had thought to himself more than once because he couldn’t deny what he had  _done_. What he  _hadn’t_  done.

The creature opened its mouth, about to say something else, when Michael clenched his hand shut, cutting its voice off.

“You are not Gabriel,” Michael said softly, his sight going beyond that of humans. This creature didn’t have Gabriel’s light, his  _love_. Even when Gabriel had been filled with rage and grief and pain, Michael had still been able to sense that. And he would never have said such things.

It took only a moment before the creature was ashes, the sooty outline of its figure burnt into the chest it had been stored in.

Breathing in, Michael let his hand drop, pulling his form into his vessel.

That had not been Gabriel, but that didn’t mean the creature’s words hurt any less.

* * *

“Someone broke into Professor Lupin’s office,” Ginny said the next afternoon in the library. “He had a boggart in there, and they killed it.” She stared at Michael. “He wouldn’t have told us at all, but he couldn’t get rid of the marks.”

“Is that what it was?” Michael looked down at his hands, deliberately not thinking about what it had looked like.

“You don’t know?”

“Right, you weren’t there,” Justin said, nodding. “Professor Lupin had a whole class on boggarts and how to take care of them, though it didn’t involve incinerating.”

Michael didn’t want to ask what they did, but at the same time he wanted to know.

“They turn into your worst fear,” Justin explained a moment later, apparently reading Michael’s indecision in his face. “The spell that takes care of them is  _riddikulus_ ; you’re supposed to picture something funny when you cast it.”

Michael’s worst fear was  _Gabriel_?

But…no.

The boggart had taken Gabriel’s form, but it had been his  _words_  that Michael truly feared, digging out his darkest thoughts. The form had just made it worse, since he had let Gabriel down so badly.

“What did you see?” Ginny asked, tone soft.

_Blackened, frozen skin, bloody and torn open, the **sound**  of wet liquid hitting stone—_

Michael drew in a sharp breath, not meeting any of their eyes.

_“You abandoned us. You abandoned **me**. You’re no brother of mine.”_

_“You stood there and watched as he tore me apart! I **begged**  you to help; I  **begged**  him to stop, but neither of you listened!_  _And then…he stopped even that. What’s your excuse, Michael? How far did you fall?”_

The wooden edge of the table broke under his grip, splinters digging into his palm and drawing blood. It was more the sound of wood splintering that broke Michael out of his daze than the distant pain of the splinters digging into his skin.

“You don’t have to answer,” Ernie blurted out, eyes wide.

Gaze dropping, Michael shook the splinters off, hand clenching as the small cuts healed. He rubbed over the broken section of the table, the wood gleaming like new when his hand withdrew.

When he remained silent, the others turned back to their books, subdued. Luna examined him for a long moment before returning to her essay.

Michael wasn’t entirely certain how much time had passed before he did finally speak, voice a whisper. “It was my brother.”

Although no one spoke, Justin pressed his feet against Michael’s, and Susan rubbed her shoulder against his.

It was…nice.

* * *

Things fell back into a sort of rhythm again, the pace only slightly off by the absence of Malfoy, who ignored and avoided Michael with extreme prejudice. After one failed attempt at making fun of Michael for pissing off the Malfoy heir, Zacharias started avoiding Michael as well, having fallen on the wrong end of Michael’s glare.

With March came another Quidditch match, and Michael was one of the few who didn’t attend, preferring not to put himself any closer to the Dementors than necessary. His friends were all too excited to see how Potter performed on his Firebolt, which had been deemed safe to use. Granger had consequently made up with Potter, though Weasley was still unwilling, evidently still sore about the death of his beloved rat.

Questioning Dane had yielded no answers for Michael beyond getting the name of his new friend, and Michael had given up five minutes later to leave the cats to their own ends. Cats were truly bizarre, and even understanding them didn’t make comprehending them any easier.

After the Quidditch match, his friends came back talking about how Malfoy and his two friends had dressed up as Dementors in an effort to freak Potter out.

“And Harry whipped out his wand and did something that made a stag come out!” Justin said excitedly.

“Are they hurt?” Michael asked.

“Just their pride,” Susan said cheerfully.

Michael made a considering noise.

“Are you going to go and scold him?” Justin asked hopefully.

“No?” Michael stared at him, brow furrowed. “He isn’t talking to me.”

“You could talk to him,” Hannah pointed out. “Not that I’m saying you  _should_. But…if you did…”

“He always makes the funniest faces when you do that ‘I’m so disappointed in you’ look,” Ernie said, grinning.

Michael  _looked_  at him, only for Ernie’s grin to widen.

“That’s the look!” Ernie said cheerfully.

“No, that’s his ‘I can’t believe this’ face,” Justin said.

Michael resisted the urge to look at Justin now.

“I think that’s a new one,” Susan said, squinting at him.

“It looks more like ‘why me,’” Hannah noted.

Heaving a sigh, Michael pinched his nose. “I’m leaving,” he said slowly.

And he did, ignoring any and all laughter from behind him.

* * *

As things turned out, Michael was off somewhere else when Sirius Black made another attempt on Gryffindor Tower, scaring the shit out of Ron Weasley. He didn’t hear about it until the next day, when a red-eyed and splotchy-faced Neville told them what had happened.

“It was my fault,” Neville said miserably, rubbing at his eyes with a sleeve. “He – he found the list of passwords I had—”

“It could have happened to anyone,” Ginny said, interlinking their arms. “Sir Cadogan kept changing the passwords,” she told the Hufflepuffs.

“So I asked him for the next ones,” Neville said, sniffling. “And I lost the list! I-I’ve got detention, and I can’t go to Hogsmeade again—” He hiccupped, rubbing his face again until Ernie handed him a handkerchief.

“That wasn’t your fault,” Michael said finally, hoping he sounded calm and reassuring. From the encouraging nod Susan gave him, he must have succeeded. “If he hadn’t found your list, he might have hurt someone else. This way no one was hurt.”

Blowing his nose, Neville gave Michael a weak smile. “You really think so?”

“I do.” Michael nodded, hesitating only briefly before reaching out to pat Neville on the shoulder. “It’ll be all right,” he added gently. “No one was harmed, were they?”

“N-no, but…” Neville swallowed. “They  _could_  have been.”

“No one was,” Michael said firmly. He gentled his tone again. “Come on. I think it’s time to go to the kitchens.” Humans did like comfort food, didn’t they? Eleanor always did.

Neville froze, the handkerchief hovering in front of his nose. The others didn’t look much better.

“You – you know where the kitchens are?” Ernie demanded finally.

Michael had found them on his second day of exploring Hogwarts at night. “Yes?”

Ten minutes later, the house-elves were utterly overjoyed at having such happy children to attend to. Michael found himself wondering if this wasn’t perhaps a mistake, but then Neville giggled at something, all sadness momentarily forgotten, and he reconsidered.

Two days later, Michael found himself stealing a rather vindictive red envelope before it could reach Neville, having heard the awful tirade well before it even entered the Great Hall. The Howler from last year was still clear in his memory, and he had no desire to hear this one spew all over Neville.

Seeing Neville’s palpable confusion at the bemused owl hopping all over the table was more than worth it considering the alternative.

* * *

The next Quidditch match passed without incident, Potter successfully catching the Snitch so that Gryffindor came in the lead. Weasley had also apparently made up with Granger and Potter, something which made Ginny inordinately happy since he was no longer moping about the place.

Then it was June, and the term was almost over. There had been no further signs of Black, and Michael hoped the Dementors wouldn’t return. If they did, he was going to set something on fire.

Probably them.

Thankfully no Dementors had come onto the school grounds since the incident at the beginning of term, but Michael was looking forward to being warm again.

He was perfectly fine with ignoring Dementors entirely.

Which was why, of course, he ended up in the midst of them at night.

Thanks to Granger and her time-turner.

* * *

As sad as it sounded, Michael had actually gotten used to the sensation of Granger using her time-turner and jumping all through the time stream. So it didn’t even ping as unusual anymore.

But when it happened in the late evening after exams, Michael was confused. Granger had only ever used the time-turner for her classes and never for anything even more frivolous. That she was using it  _now_  was peculiar.

Curious, Michael slipped away from his friends, staying out of the realm of human perception as he followed Granger and…Potter? That was a first.

He was even more bewildered – and worried – when they ended up following their own past selves down to Hagrid’s hut and when they rescued the hippogriff chained up there. So far nothing grievous had happened, but Michael didn’t think that would last.

But nothing happened, aside from Weasley being grabbed by a strange dog and Dane and Crookshanks chasing after a newly discovered rat. Michael felt rather vindicated at the proof that they  _had_  been plotting.

Then the two cats, the dog, and Weasley went underneath  _that_  tree, and the Potter and Granger of the present time followed after being thrown about a little. The other Potter and Granger remained motionless, agreeing to sit and wait until their past selves returned.

Being perfectly capable of splitting his attention between two places, Michael did so, following the animals and Weasley into the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. That dog definitely didn’t really  _look_  like a dog upon closer inspection, and his suspicious were realized when the dog shifted into a skinny and bedraggled human.

Was this the infamous Sirius Black?

The next hour was truly worthy of those soap operas that humans liked to watch, with accusations and revelations being made left and right, culminating with the reveal that Weasley’s beloved rat was  _also_  a human.

And, well…

Michael wasn’t quite sure what to think about wizards at the moment. Such an atrocious mishandling of justice wasn’t entirely uncommon among humans, but that so many had suffered as a result – were  _still_  suffering…

When it became clear that the group, accompanied by a now unconscious Snape, would be leaving, Michael returned to the other Potter and Granger, rather more curious about what they intended to do. Were they intending to save Black?

Michael pulled back slightly, looking at the lines of time clinging to the future Potter and Granger. There were no troubling tangles, anything to indicate that they were irrevocably messing things up. No, they were doing exactly what they were supposed to.

They ran off into the Forbidden Forest before the others came out, which was several minutes before the full moon revealed itself.

The anguish that ripped through Lupin was so powerful that even though he wasn’t trying, it hit Michael with all the subtlety of a brick.

_He was alone – had been alone for so long, and now that he’d found Sirius again he couldn’t let it happen. They were going to solve it, and Sirius would be free, and he wouldn’t be alone anymore—_

Michael pulled away from Lupin’s visceral emotions and pain, seeing Black chase Lupin away from the vulnerable children, and Lupin was  _gone_ , nothing but the beast left of him.

It was utterly wrong. That the man – one of the kindest that Michael had known – was reduced to this. All he’d wanted was to protect and help, and he ended up being punished—

He could fix this. He  _could_.

And Michael realized…he  _wanted_  to fix this. There was little else that he could do, but he could help Lupin.

It took only a nudge to send Black off in another direction. Michael didn’t pay attention to where – his attention was on Lupin’s lupine form. He stepped into view, instantly catching Lupin’s attention.

Lupin snarled, lunging towards Michael.

Michael stepped aside, snagging hold of Lupin behind his neck. “ _Shh_.” He pulled just out of reach of Lupin’s snapping jaws, holding them shut with a hand. Then, releasing his grip on Lupin’s neck, he touched Lupin’s forehead, exhaling slowly.

The werewolf curse – regardless of universe – was similar to a virus. Although it affected the DNA of humans, that was something that could be manipulated easily.

Within one blink to the next, Michael was holding a senseless human. Lupin’s skin was clammy, but he was alive and no longer in pain.

Michael closed his eyes, smiling despite himself.

It…was suddenly very cold. Far colder than anything Michael had felt over the last year. Lupin shivered violently in his arms, and his breath fogged, billowing steam in the cold air.

There was screaming. Horrible  _screaming_.

He dropped to his knees, hands pressed to his ears, letting Lupin slide to the ground. It didn’t work, the cold drawing the sound out.

Nonononono _no_ —

“ _You didn’t have to do it! But you had to be the **good child**. What about  **me**? You left me in here to  **rot**! How do you like it now,  **Michael**?_ ”

_It was so, **so**  agonizingly  **cold** , even his own fire dimming over time. There was no sound save for that of his sibling, and they were  **alone**  – utterly  **alone** , and he didn’t know  **why**._

_And then they weren’t alone._

_“ Michael,  **please** —”_

_Echoing silence, but no way to hide the wracking pain that filled the space, Grace **screaming**  with all the sound that a voice no longer had the power to._

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Gabriel, I’m  _sorry_. ” Michael gasped, jerking away and slamming back into a tree, the trunk denting under the impact. “Forgive me, sibling.”

Gabriel wasn’t there. Michael was talking to thin air, not even the echoes of his brother’s screaming answering him.

The Dementors. There were so many…

Breath coming in quick, panicky bursts, Michael turned his head,  _looking_. He could see them, the way they were crowding around two bodies.

One of them was Potter.

Michael had sent Black right into the arms of the Dementors, and Potter was there with him. They weren’t going to last, he could already tell that.

He couldn’t stand by and do  _nothing_.

Shaking off as much of the Dementors’ influence as he was able, Michael braced himself against the tree, steadying his breathing. Then, one step later, he pulled the Dementors  _back_ , heedless of their cold freezing at his Grace, the chilling emptiness that their presence brought as he  _touched_  them.

The moment the Dementors weren’t swarming Potter and Black, Michael let go, only to surge outwards furiously, lashing out at the Dementors and burning them from the inside out.

When he was done – when there was nothing left of the Dementors but ashes, Michael found himself leaning against a tree, his surroundings obscured by steam, the lake in front of him half-evaporated from the energy he had emitted. He could tell that Potter and Black were all right but unconscious, and a dozen feet to his left were the other Potter and Granger, the two of them utterly bewildered and unable to hear through their ringing eardrums.

He’d screamed, Michael realized dully, his voice aching slightly. But no one was really  _hurt_ , and he…

_The stabbing pain in his chest – in his **Grace**  – spread outwards, shattering him from the inside. It was so harsh that the gentle embrace he was clasped in was almost inconceivable, but there was no hiding from his  **essence**  dissipating into  **nothing** —_

With a helpless shudder, Michael fled.

* * *

“Where  _were_  you?” Ernie asked several days later, cornering Michael in his compartment on the train. “You missed the closing feast and Sirius Black escaping again.”

Michael didn’t look up from where he’d been studying the floor, his elbows braced on his knees. “Someplace warm,” he answered eventually, voice distant.

“Did you have something to do with the Dementors?” Susan demanded, sitting across from him. “Fudge was absolutely  _furious_  about it.”

“I thought he was more frightened,” Ernie said.

“He was both,” Susan said. “But that doesn’t matter. Was that you?”

“They were going to kill them,” Michael said, looking up to meet Susan’s eyes.

There was silence in the compartment, the only sounds that of them finding their seats.

“Dementors don’t kill, Michael,” Susan said finally, swallowing. “They…it might almost be kinder if they  _did_.”

Michael was almost about to ask what Susan meant by that, but then he remembered his readings and what Eleanor had talked about.

The Dementor’s Kiss, which essentially meant that they  _ate a soul_.

“Even worse, then,” Michael managed, covering his face with both hands. “It’s over.” Exhaling, he dropped his hands, shifting to sit upright.

“You saved them,” Luna acknowledged, her shoulder pressing against Michael’s comfortingly.

“But what  _happened_?” Justin asked, bewildered. “You left that night without saying anything, and now you’re back and a bunch of Dementors are  _dead_.”

“The time-turner was used, so I went to see what for.” Michael’s eyes dropped to his hands. “It was a little more than I expected.”

He’d been prepared for one Dementor, not the horde that had appeared. He didn’t even know  _why_  they affected him like that, when he should be above that. Physical creatures should have no effect on  _him_.

“It was bad?” Neville’s eyes were wide, his voice wavering.

“No one was hurt,” Michael said, relieved that this was the truth. “I made certain of that. But it was…far too cold.” He restrained a shiver at the memory.

“You didn’t get Black,” Susan said. “He escaped.”

“He’s innocent,” Michael said. “I wasn’t concerned about him.”

Everyone’s voices jumbled together to protest, “ _Innocent_?”

Ginny’s mouth dropped open in a silent “ _oh_.”

“Was it the same thing?” Justin said after a moment, hesitant. “That you remembered.”

Michael’s mouth twisted. “Yes. No.” He shrugged. “It was…more.”

“There were a lot more,” Luna noted, quiet.

“Yes,” Michael said again, sighing a second later. He turned to look out the window, at the passing scenery.

There was a stilted silence for a minute before the others started talking, occasionally shooting Michael concerned glances that he saw in the reflection of the window.

_“You were human before, though. As Wayne. How did that happen?”_

They were all so human, but they  _cared_  so much. Michael had no idea how it had happened, but he hadn’t been the best at returning that affection. He just…wasn’t good at it.

“It was my brother,” Michael said what seemed like an age later, the words almost a whisper. The others stopped talking immediately. “He killed me.”

“The…” Ginny swallowed audibly. “The one who was your boggart?”

“No,” Michael murmured, seeing that false visage of Gabriel’s behind his eyelids. “He…I failed him. I failed all of them.”

And he was still failing them. He couldn’t even beg their forgiveness, especially those who deserved it most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do think Gabriel/Tony would go in Hufflepuff if the Hat had to sort him, although he'd fit in well with the other Houses. And with the way I've written Lucifer, his _loyalty_ is his defining trait, since he loved God too much to listen to what He wanted. But in any case, these are just opinions! :D
> 
> Also, sorry for the downer ending? But an update is an update! I hope you enjoyed! Please let me know your thoughts! :D
> 
> As a reminder, Redemption's sequel is currently being posted!


	4. Fourth Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned with the fourth year! Which is...a whopper. Not too surprising considering the book itself is pretty massive? *does not think about #5*
> 
> I skim over a lot, especially at the end because the last third of the book is pretty heavily focused on things that only _Harry_ is aware of. And Michael isn't really paying attention to that stuff. BUT. Fifth year is where things start to get interesting! (Only now I have to figure out how I'm going to start the thing.)
> 
> Please be aware of emotional whiplash at times. This is Michael of Supernatural we're talking about, and he was put through a bit of a wringer in the last chapter.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! (And that it was worth the wait...)

The routine of Michael’s summer was occasionally interspersed with letters from his friends and Eleanor and Alan arranging a trip to the seaside, during which Michael found himself rather at a loss for what to do and mainly just sat around feeling ridiculous. He didn’t miss the concerned glances that Eleanor and Alan shot him, but he also wasn’t quite sure what to  _do_.

He ended up trying to build a sand castle because some other children were doing it. He wasn’t quite sure he did it right since people kept coming by to stare at the end result.

In hindsight, maybe building a castle that that went up to his waist and which featured actual windows wasn’t the best idea.

But since it did make Eleanor and Alan happier, it was worth the trouble putting it together. Alan even took a picture, insisting that Michael pose next to it. The resulting picture had been rather awkward with Michael’s picture self staring into the camera like it was going to eat him.

At the end of July Neville sent him an invitation to his birthday party. Given the importance humans placed on birthdays, Michael wasn’t too surprised by this. What was more annoying was having to obtain an appropriate present.

In the end Michael settled on some potted dittany, which had healing properties. As Neville enjoyed Herbology, he would probably like it.

Since the plant wasn’t wrapped, Michael had the pleasure of seeing Neville’s face light up upon seeing it.

“Is that dittany?” Neville asked delightedly, taking the pot from Michael. “Thanks!”

Michael inclined his head. “You’re welcome.”

Neville paused, fingers on the leaves. “Should I ask where you got it? This is rare.”

It was easy enough for Michael to just go out and find some, but… “I was under the impression one didn’t tell with presents?”

“Right!” Neville flushed lightly, shooting a guilty glance to where his grandmother was talking to Susan’s aunt. “Justin’s not here yet, but the others are. I’ll just put this somewhere in the sun.”

Neville hurried off, the pot of dittany held gently in his hands, and Michael was left standing there for a moment before he turned and looked for the others.

“Wayne!” Ernie shouted the moment he saw him, grinning broadly. “Glad you could make it!”

Susan rolled her eyes, giving Wayne a smile. “What else was he supposed to be doing, Ernie?”

“I don’t know. What do angels do when they’re not glaring at homework?”

“They fly,” Luna said dreamily, her smile small but genuine. “And they help people.”

Michael felt a slight twinge of guilt at the latter statement, his lips twisting briefly. “Some of us,” he said before anyone could say anything else. “But we do fly. How has your summer been, Luna?”

“Very good,” Luna said. “Dad and I have been looking for reports of the Blibbering Humdinger; we hope to find one later.”

“The what?” Hannah asked, confused, at the same time Ernie said, “What on earth is  _that_?”

“We don’t know yet,” Luna said, giving a small, half-smile. “But we’ll know it when we see it.”

Michael wasn’t entirely sure to say, and neither was anyone else, so when Justin and Neville joined them, they were both rather bemused to find them all staring – or not staring in Michael’s case – at Luna.

“Is everything all right?” Neville asked after a moment, glancing between everyone worriedly. “Is it the drinks?”

Michael abruptly found himself with a drink in hand courtesy of Ginny, who winked at him.

“The drinks are fine,” Ernie rushed to assure him.

“He hasn’t had this many friends over for his birthday before,” Ginny told Michael in a whisper. “So he’s a little nervous.”

“He’s doing fine,” Michael said, surreptitiously raising the drink to his nose to see what it was. It turned out to be pumpkin juice.

Ginny snorted, covering it with a cough when Michael raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, but you’re not exactly the best judge of normal behavior.”

“No, I’ve seen worse from adults,” Michael insisted.

“Hm…I suppose you would have.” Ginny nudged him gently in the side. “You know about the Quidditch World Cup?”

Michael tilted his head. “No.”

Ginny didn’t immediately continue, brow furrowed as she studied him. Then she seemed to realize that he was asking for more information, not shutting the conversation down. “Oh…you know about Quidditch at Hogwarts, right? This is  _the_  biggest event for Quidditch; it’s held every four years in a different country, and they’re holding it  _here_  this year!” She bounced excitedly.

“Gran doesn’t want to go,” Neville said mournfully, having overheard them. “So she didn’t get tickets.”

“I’ll ask my folks,” Justin said hopefully. “They might be willing to let me go.”

“I think mine already have tickets,” Ernie said thoughtfully, Susan nodding in agreement.

“We  _hoped_  to get tickets,” Ginny said, mood lowering, “but they’re too expensive. I suppose we’ll just have to listen to the radio.”

“No one in my family’s interested,” Hannah said, giving Ginny a sympathetic smile.

“Michael’s not going either, is he?” Luna looked expectantly at Michael.

“No?” Michael made a face, rather discomfited at being the center of attention so suddenly. “I didn’t even know it was this year.” He didn’t even know it was a  _thing_.

“You don’t even  _like_  Quidditch, do you?” Justin snickered. “What are you doing, then?”

Michael hadn’t really done much of anything this summer, not like last time. Occasionally he did stir and travel someplace to answer a particularly desperate prayer, but somehow, he just lacked…the zeal.

“Nothing much,” Michael answered eventually, offering a perfunctory smile that had Justin looking worried. Which had not been the reaction Michael had been hoping to garner.

“Are you all right?” Justin asked, eyes scanning Michael.

“I’m fine.”

“It’s just…” Justin paused, considering his next words. He didn’t seem to notice the others looking at him expectantly. “That was a lot of Dementors last year,” he settled on finally, subdued. “And you – you were right in the middle of it. It’s all right to be a little…down, that’s all.”

Michael hadn’t even considered that as a possibility. He’d brushed the presence of the Dementors away as soon as he’d been able to, seeking to rid himself of the cold. But that hadn’t stopped him from dwelling on the memories they’d brought to the forefront – memories that he thought he’d left behind.

“You didn’t even have any chocolate after that, did you?” Hannah’s eyes were wide.

“No, but—”

“I think the cake’s chocolate,” Neville said, grabbing hold of Michael’s arm. “Let’s sneak a bite! You can hide it, can’t you?”

Michael  _could_ , but that didn’t mean he  _should_.

_Michael, you can be happy, you know._

Michael jolted, eyes widening slightly as he glanced at Luna, who met his gaze calmly. She just offered him a small smile, taking his other arm.

“Let’s go, come on!” Neville whispered, tugging him along. “Gran’s busy!”

Five minutes later, Michael found himself hiding the presence of his friends as they all snuck bites of the chocolate cake and its icing. When he didn’t immediately take the slice that Justin offered him, Ernie went and smeared it all over his face, not even remotely apologetic in the face of the incredulous glare Michael shot him.

Following a mini-food fight during which most of the cake ended up on their clothes, even Michael found himself digging out chocolate from his hair and inside his shirt. There was no saving the cake by this point, and Michael wasn’t entirely certain of his ability to recreate it.

Which probably accounted for the suspicious looks Neville’s grandmother shot them after taking her first bite.

* * *

In the first week of August came a letter from Ginny practically oozing excitement that said she was going to be able to go to the Quidditch World Cup after all. She expressed disappointment that Michael wasn’t going to be there and added that Potter had been invited so he could get away from his relatives. (Michael had the general impression that none of the Weasleys were impressed with Potter’s family.) There was also an invitation to her birthday on the eleventh.

Since neither Eleanor nor Alan was exactly a Quidditch fan and Michael found little sense in throwing balls around in the air while risking death every second, there had been no plans to attend the event. That standards were safer now than they had been several centuries ago didn’t exactly impress him.

But Michael was aware enough by now of human social mores that he simply wrote back wishing her a good time. The poor owl that had carried the first message gave him a scandalized look upon being given the return letter ten minutes later, but he was soon sent out on his way after Michael took pity on him and gave him a boost of energy.

Some of his other friends were a little more dismayed at being unable to attend the Quidditch World Cup, Justin bemoaning his parents’ lack of interest in the sport and Neville rather upset that his grandmother hadn’t purchased tickets despite him trying to convince her otherwise. Hannah wasn’t quite as upset about missing the game but more because she wouldn’t get to see the others, and Luna didn’t care at all, sending Michael letters on what she and her father had been up to.

“You didn’t want to go, did you?” Eleanor asked him later that day.

“Not really,” Michael said, shrugging. Then, “What are you working on?”

It wasn’t the smoothest way of changing the subject, but Eleanor seemed happy enough to discuss some of her recent cases with him and how she had helped her patients. And that way Michael didn’t have to deal with her sharing concerned looks with Alan.

At this rate something would have to be done.

* * *

It was official. Michael absolutely hated the Floo. It was such a messy and uncomfortable way of traveling that it was absolutely perfect for wizards.

And he hated it.

It wasn’t even the soot. No, he could deal with the soot. It wasn’t even the dizzying sensation of being transported from one point to the next with absolutely no control over the method.

It was the fact that the fireplace spat Michael out with a vengeance, sending him sprawling across the floor headfirst until he collided with something, which then proceeded to topple over and land on him. Michael swore the fireplace gave a disgusted cough before falling silent.

The disgust was entirely mutual.

“I’m sorry!” Ginny rolled off of him, sounding utterly mortified. She started patting at Michael’s robes. “Are you all right?”

Michael got to his knees, gently batting aside Ginny’s hands. “I’m fine,” he assured her, brushing the soot off.

“ _Scourgify_ ,” an unfamiliar voice said, promptly coming over to fuss at Michael’s robes as well. “There you are, dear.”

Michael turned to see someone who could only be Ginny’s mother. “Thank you.”

“No worries at all!” Ginny’s mother beamed at him. “We can’t have you going around in a such a mess, can we?”

“Mum, this is Wayne,” Ginny cut in. “He’s in Hufflepuff.”

After the cursory introductions and Michael handing the present over, Ginny ushered Michael out of the house and into the yard, where Neville and Luna were both waiting. “Ignore my brothers,” she told him. “They’re utter prats.”

“Aw, Ginny,” someone cooed from behind them.

“That really hurts, you know,” a nearly identical voice continued.

Michael turned slightly, unsurprised to see the twins standing there with identical grins on their faces.

“Fred and George,” Ginny said as a curt introduction, giving them a sharp look. “You leave them alone, all right?”

Michael didn’t move as the twins looked over at him, their grins stretching the slightest millimeter.

“And who might you be?” Fred asked.

“Wayne,” Michael answered simply.

“You’re one of Ginny’s friends?” George leaned in slightly, ignoring the glare Ginny shot him.

“It’s why I was invited,” Michael said dryly, inclining his head.

He realized that may have been a mistake a second later when the twins grinned again, this time more wickedly than before.

But then Ginny snapped at them. “No! If you try anything, I’m telling Mum!”

Fred put his hands up, backing away slowly. “Nothing planned here, Ginny.”

“Of course not,” Ginny muttered, , snatching hold of Michael’s arm to pull him the rest of the way to where Neville and Luna were waiting.

“The others should be here soon,” Ginny said, smiling now. “Mum was surprised that I’m having so many friends over.”

“She doesn’t mind, does she?” Neville asked.

“She loves cooking,” Ginny assured him. “I’ve just never had such a big group before.” Her eyes were bright.

“Having friends is nice,” Luna agreed, smiling. “I’ve never been invited to so many parties before.” There was a strong ache of loneliness accompanying the words that hit Michael rather like a sledgehammer.

Ginny’s smile twisted slightly, and even Neville looked rather stricken.

Hesitant, Michael moved closer to touch her shoulder. “You’re invited to mine,” he said carefully. “If you want.”

Luna smiled brilliantly at him. “I’d love to come! What kind of parties do angels have?”

“We don’t, actually,” Michael said after a moment. “It’s a human custom.”

“You don’t have any parties at all?” Neville sounded morbidly fascinated with the concept.

There was nothing to party about. “No.”

“I’m sorry,” Luna said seriously. “That sounds terribly dull.”

Michael frowned briefly, uncertain of how to respond to that.

“He’s having parties now,” Ginny pointed out, evidently taking pity on Michael.

“I suppose he is, yes,” Luna agreed, studying Michael solemnly. “Are you having fun?”

The concept of “fun” was still rather new, but Michael supposed he was. “Yes.”

And, several hours and one failed prank by the Weasley twins later, Michael rather found that it hadn’t been a lie after all.

But he really hated Flooing.

* * *

_Oh no, oh no, what do I do, what do I do? There are too many people here. Stay together with Fred and George. If Michael were here…_

Michael filtered out most prayers, but he didn’t do so anymore for any of his friends. This wasn’t even a  _prayer_ , but the desperation and fear attached to it and the use of his name was enough to get his attention. So it didn’t matter what it was, just that Ginny was genuinely terrified and had thought of him.

He found her in a second, landing next to her in a silent beat. He would have reached out to touch her to let her know he was there, but that was when he registered the acrid sensation of raw fear and the faint screaming in the distance.

Michael froze briefly, breath stopping in his throat, hearing  _other_ , inhuman screaming that echoed in his mind. Clenching his eyes shut, Michael drew back, shaking himself back into the present and pulling his Grace into his vessel to block out the fear.

Prepared now, Michael reached out to touch Ginny on the shoulder once her brothers were distracted. The next thing he knew was that she punched him, the delicate bones of her fingers shattering with the impact.

“ _Ow_!” Ginny reeled back, face white in pain as she nursed her broken hand. “You—” She broke off when she saw him, eyes widening. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.

“You called me here,” Michael pointed out, touching two fingers to her hand.

Once healed, Ginny shook her hand out, flexing her fingers. “No, I didn’t.”

“You said my name.”

“I – oh.” Ginny pursed her lips, glancing back to where her brothers were calling for their youngest brother and his friends. “I didn’t realize…”

“What’s going on?”

Ginny didn’t answer, seizing Michael by the shirt, eyes wide. “You can do something, can’t you? You can help them!” Her eyes flicked to something behind Michael before returning to his.

“I can’t—”

“You can!” Ginny insisted, the words a hiss to avoid catching the attention of her brothers, who were by now quite frantic. “Don’t tell me you’re just going to let them  _torture_  those Muggles! They haven’t even done anything!” She tried shaking him, but the only thing she managed was stretching his shirt.

“There’s already help there,” Michael said, tilting his head as he stretched his senses out carefully. “They’re handling it.”

That took all the wind out of Ginny’s sails, and she deflated. “Oh. Good.” She seemed to realize she was still holding onto Michael’s shirt and let go, looking only vaguely guilty at the stretched fabric.

“Who’s this, Ginny?” Fred asked, coming up to give Michael a piercing look.

“It’s all right, Fred,” Ginny said, glancing up at him. “You remember Wayne, don’t you? You did try to prank him,” she added dryly.

Fred didn’t look remotely sorry at the reminder, nodding. “You alone, then?”

Since he was literally the only other person standing there, Michael chose not to answer that question, instead going for, “Who are you looking for?”

“Ron, Harry, and Hermione,” George answered, still looking around as if he could find them through sheer tenacity. “We were separated.”

It took Michael only a second to find them in the forest, and he glanced at Ginny, inclining his head slightly with what he hoped was an encouraging look.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Ginny said after a moment, relaxing minutely. “This is Harry we’re talking about, and Hermione won’t let them do anything  _too_  crazy.”

“Are we talking about the same Harry here?” Fred protested, eyebrows raised.

“He’ll be fine,” Ginny snapped at him, puffing up.

“Oh, I’m sure,” George said. “Right after stumbling into something else.”

“That does sound like our Harry,” Fred said cheerfully, sharing a grin with his brother. He turned back to Michael. “Stick with us for now.”

Nodding, Michael hung back with Ginny as the twins pushed forward, illuminating their wands with a quiet spell to help light their surroundings.

“What about Susan and Ernie?” Ginny whispered, wrapping her fingers around Michael’s wrist. “Are they all right?”

It took a few more seconds for Michael to locate them, both of them far away from the current chaos. “They’re fine,” he assured her quietly. “They aren’t even here anymore.”

Ginny sagged in relief. “That’s good,” she breathed. Her fingers tightened briefly. “Thank you for coming.”

Michael tilted his head, looking at her steadily. “You called for me.”

“I didn’t even know I did.” Ginny bit her lip, studying the ground.

“I made you a promise,” Michael said softly. “You won’t come to harm again.”

A wry grin flashed across Ginny’s face. “I didn’t know you could  _keep_  it. I thought it was just you – you know – being sweet.”

Michael frowned, unsure of how to interpret that. “I am not sweet.”

“Well, maybe not,” Ginny agreed, “but you are kind.”

“I…” Michael looked away, his vessel doing something rather unusual in the region of his stomach. Even his heart did something like a flop, which was anatomically impossible. He wasn’t kind. No one in the Host was. They were what they were.

There wasn’t changing that, even with the newfound concept that they had  _free will_.

One couldn’t change who they had been born as. Humans were humans, monsters were monsters, and angels were angels. There was no changing that and no changing the role they played.

Even Michael, who knew he was no longer  _worthy_  of being who he was, couldn’t change his nature.

“You are a bit of a twat sometimes,” Ginny went on, bumping shoulders with him. “But everyone is, really.”

“Are you flirting back there?” George teased Ginny, glancing over his shoulder.

Ginny flushed. “George!”

“You two are looking  _very_  comfortable,” George continued, grinning broadly. “Are you holding hands?”

Ginny snatched her hand away, hiding it behind her back. “It’s none of your business!”

Her brothers turned as one, smirking evilly and cooing, though neither let their wands drop.

Michael wasn’t quite sure how to react and just stood there, eyebrows furrowed. Ginny huffed, the sound fond, as she rolled her eyes.

Two seconds later, the moment was shattered as the sky was lit up with a sickly green glow; seconds later, screams pierced the night.

Michael glanced up almost unconsciously, eyes narrowing when he saw the grinning skull outlined in sparkling green against the dark sky, a snake curling out of its mouth. He hadn’t the faintest idea what it stood for, only that it meant nothing good. Even Ginny had reacted, clutching his arm with a death grip that would have bruised a human.

The twins reacted quickly, unusually serious for what Michael knew of them, ushering them back and away from the sight. They trekked backwards, eventually leaving the trees behind and entering what looked like a campground.

“They’re all gone,” Ginny said, sounding faintly surprised.

Her brothers didn’t answer beyond giving their surroundings a suspicious look and pushing them ahead. Michael wasn’t entirely sure where they were headed, but Fred guided them through the mess of tents and smoldering campfires until they reached another tent with familiar red-haired faces.

“Ginny!” One of the other brothers – the lankier one – rushed over, relieved.

“Fred,” Fred said dryly.

“George,” George supplied, rolling his eyes. “So nice to see you, Weatherby.”

Michael paused, confused at the unfamiliar name. Ginny wasn’t any help, busy fending off the so-called Weatherby’s concerned fussing.

A short, stocky Weasley came over, notably calmer than Weatherby, giving them all a once-over, eyes lingering on Michael. “Did you pick someone up?”

“This is Wayne,” Ginny answered before either of the twins could. “He’s my friend.”

The man nodded. “Where are your parents?” he asked Michael.

“I didn’t come with them,” Michael said easily.

“He came with Ernie,” Ginny added, “but he was separated from them.”

“They left,” Michael said after a moment.

“Took a Portkey, probably,” the last Weasley standing by the tent said, nodding. A fang dangled from one ear, his long hair tied back in a ponytail. “You can stay with us until we sort something out.”

“Where’s Dad?” George asked. “We lost the others while we were running.” He was tense.

“Gone off to find you,” the short Weasley said. “He’ll be back soon, I expect.”

“What about  _that_?” Fred asked, glancing back over his shoulder to where the grinning skull and snake still illuminated the night sky.

“It’ll be fine.”

“Come on,” the other Weasley said, opening the tent flap. “Inside.”

Ginny snagged hold of Michael’s arm before he could consider doing anything else, tugging him along insistently until he followed.

“I’m Bill,” the Weasley with the earring said once they were all inside. “It’s good to meet a friend of Ginny’s.”

“That’s Charlie,” Ginny said before her brother could, nodding to him. “And Percy.”

“Not Weatherby, then?” Michael asked before he could rethink it.

Both Fred and George snorted, grinning broadly despite the glare Percy leveled on them.

“What?” Fred didn’t sound at all apologetic. “Isn’t it your name, Weatherby?”

“How you can be so  _ridiculous_ —” Whatever else Percy might have said was cut off when the tent flap opened again, this time to admit Potter and his friends, who were followed shortly after by a man who Michael recognized as Arthur Weasley from his time at Ginny’s house.

The man paused upon noticing Michael, his brow furrowing, clearly not recognizing him.

“I’m Wayne,” Michael reminded him before anyone else could say anything.

“He’s my friend,” Ginny added a beat later. “He was at my birthday, remember? He missed the Portkey Ernie took.”

Granger was looking at him, evidently recognizing him from last year. She looked away upon realizing that he had noticed her staring, attention turning to Potter.

“It doesn’t matter,” Michael said, shifting his weight.

“We’ll get you home,” Mr. Weasley assured him.

Michael wasn’t at all concerned about that, but the concern was appreciated.

When Potter asked about the skull in the sky, evidently as lost as Michael about what it meant, he was relieved that he didn’t have to ask, though the answer was frustratingly vague. It was frightening, he understood that much, but symbols meant little without the power behind them.

When the conversation turned to the topic of house-elves and Granger’s frustration with their treatment, Ginny pulled him aside, pushing in close to ask in a murmur, “How are you getting back?”

Michael gave her a small smile. “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Indeed, several hours later once most of the panic died down and the others were sleeping, Michael gave Ginny one last look and slipped away, making sure that the rest of the family would think that they had already sent him off.

She was safe and that was all that mattered.

* * *

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Justin said sheepishly two minutes after the train started moving. “But my parents were freaking out about what happened.”

“The  _Daily Prophet_  didn’t exactly help,” Ernie pointed out, pulling out a neatly wrapped package that looked like a book. “Here you are.”

Michael unwrapped it, seeing that it was a book on magical theory. “Thank you.”

“That looks awfully dry,” Ginny said, leaning forward to take a closer look at the cover.

“If he keeps scribbling in the library books, Madame Pince is going to have his head,” Ernie said, shrugging. “I’m surprised she hasn’t noticed yet.”

“It’s the Nargles,” Luna said matter-of-factly. “They’ve confused her.”

“Most likely,” Susan said carefully after a stilted pause.

“My gran wouldn’t let me come,” Neville told Michael apologetically. He handed over a small cutting of the dittany plant Michael recognized. “I know you said you don’t do parties, but I thought you’d like this. It’s growing really well,” he added brightly.

“You’re brilliant at Herbology,” Susan said, grinning at Neville as she handed a wrapped box to Michael. When Michael saw it was apparently a quill set with assorted ink bottles, she explained, “You go through quills quickly.”

With an eager grin, Ginny shoved a badly wrapped package at him that his fingers sunk into. Unwrapping it revealed a bright red scarf. “So you don’t get cold!”

Hannah’s present turned out to be a large box of assorted chocolates. “You always look so sad, and chocolates are supposed to make you happy,” she said softly, giving him a lopsided smile.

It had been Hannah who had given him chocolate when he had still been human. The taste still lingered on Michael’s tongue when he thought about it. “Thank you.”

“It’s a notebook,” Justin said unnecessarily, brandishing an artfully decorated notebook. “So you don’t scribble in books anymore.” He gave Ernie a look.

“You didn’t even wrap it,” Susan said disapprovingly.

Justin just shrugged, letting Michael take the present to flip through the empty pages. The book was entirely Muggle down to the lined pages and the way it was bound, and Michael remembered using such books for his earlier education when he had been a human. He didn’t quite think he’d be using it the way Justin had envisioned, but the sentiment was nice.

“I had fun yesterday,” Luna said, smiling at Michael. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“What did the two of you do?” Susan asked curiously.

“Eleanor baked a cake,” Luna said brightly. “And then we sang a song before eating it. After that, we watched what they called a movie. It was very loud.”

“I’m glad you had fun,” Michael said, giving her a small smile.

Luna returned the smile. “Did you like my present?”

Michael reached into his shirt to pull out the odd bauble Luna had given him, declaring that it would protect him from anything that would try to confuse him or make him sad. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but Luna’s belief in its abilities had given it its own power, and it wasn’t something Michael would take lightly.

Upon seeing that he was wearing it, Luna’s smile widened. “Is it working?”

“I can feel it,” Michael said honestly, tucking it back under his shirt. He could feel the skepticism from the others, but thankfully they didn’t say anything, well used to Luna’s little eccentricities by now.

Stacking all his gifts on top of one another, Michael sent them to his trunk. There was a little jolt from the others at the sight, although Luna just tilted her head curiously.

“So,” Justin started, recovering quickly, “who do you think is the unlucky sap who’s stuck with the Defense position this year?”

Michael frowned slightly. “Was something wrong with Lupin?”

“You didn’t hear?”

“He wasn’t there,” Susan reminded Justin.

“But we didn’t mention it?” Justin frowned briefly before shaking it off. “I heard he resigned.”

“Did you hear, though?” Ernie leaned forward, dropping his voice. “He’s a  _werewolf_!”

“That was just a rumor,” Ginny said with a huff. “ _Snape_  started it, and he hates Professor Lupin.”

“He’s not anymore,” Michael said, cutting off whatever else Ernie might have said.

Susan stared at him. “Meaning he was one?”

“Yes.”

“Did you do something?” Hannah asked when Michael didn’t elaborate further.

Michael inclined his head. “I healed him.”

Ginny digested that for a moment. “Does he know?”

“He should’ve figured it out by now.”

“That’s going to freak him out,” Justin pointed out, a small grin flickering across his face.

“So,” Susan said slowly, “that means we had a werewolf for a professor last year?”

“Professor Snape is a vampire,” Luna said blandly, not at all perturbed by the looks she received.

“How’s he in the sun, then?” Ernie demanded.

“It’s his robes. They keep the sun out.”

“He is really pale,” Neville said thoughtfully.

“ _Well_ ,” Susan said loudly, kicking her heel against the bench, “maybe Snape’s a vampire, but I’m sure he’s still teaching Potions. Aunt Amelia was awfully cagey this summer for some reason.”

“Doesn’t she have to deal with the Dementors?” Ernie asked. “Michael did make a mess of them.”

“She wasn’t all sorry that happened, just confused,” Susan said dismissively. “It’s something else, and she won’t tell me what.”

“Gran was also rather quiet,” Neville said slowly, sharing a look with Ginny.

“Dad knows something,” Ginny said. “But he didn’t tell us what, and Fred and George really tried getting it out of him.”

“No luck?” Hannah sounded sympathetic.

Ginny smirked. “No, but I’m sure they have something else planned.”

“We’ll find out at Hogwarts,” Ernie said confidently. He looked at Michael. “What are the chances of Malfoy showing up?”

Michael tilted his head, locating Malfoy near the rear of the train. “Not very likely,” he answered after a moment.

Grinning slyly, Justin nudged Ernie in the side. “Do you miss him?”

“Come off it!” Ernie elbowed Justin in the side. “It’s just surprising, is all.” He looked back at Michael. “You’re usually so good at being on his good side.”

“Not anymore.” Michael shrugged. “I upset him when I asked about Hagrid.”

“Good,” Ginny said fiercely. “Hermione spent ages in the library last year looking up legal statutes for Buckbeak, and none of that would’ve been needed if he hadn’t been such an arse.”

“You’re not friends anymore, then?” Neville sounded rather like he considered this idea highly suspect.

“We weren’t friends,” Michael said, sighing.

“Yes, you were,” Justin said, nudging Michael’s foot with his own.

“We were friendly acquaintances.”

“ _Friends_ ,” Justin sang, grinning widely.

Heaving another sigh, Michael refrained from rolling his eyes. “If we were friends,” he said dryly, “then he would be here.”

“Actually,” Susan said slowly, “that he didn’t like what you said means that he does think of you as a friend. He would’ve ignored you otherwise or just bullied you like he does Potter. But he hasn’t talked to you at  _all_. You made him uncomfortable.”

Malfoy had definitely been discomfited at the end of that conversation, but that didn’t necessarily mean they had been  _friends_. At least not the way Michael was friends with everyone here.

“If he isn’t going to show up,” Hannah said, “then how about a game of Exploding Snap?”

Justin pulled out his deck, sighing mournfully. “It’d be more fun if there was a guarantee of one of these going off in his face.”

“It would add more color to him,” Luna agreed.

“I was more thinking about it scaring him off for the next year, but more color wouldn’t be bad.”

Michael very much doubted that an accident with a card would send Malfoy running, as the worst that could happen were singed eyebrows. Malfoy wasn’t that sensitive.

* * *

Two things of note happened that evening that caught Michael’s attention. The first was the flashy arrival of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. His arrival alone was ridiculously dramatic in a manner worthy of Gabriel, but it was the strangely dark tinge hovering around him that had Michael studying him.

It was the same as the darkness hovering around Snape but somewhat deeper. But no one else noticed, and Dumbledore introduced him without a hint of suspicion. Snape didn’t seem happy to see him, but then Snape was rarely happy.

The second thing was the announcement of the Triwizard Tournament being held at Hogwarts that year. It had everyone in Hogwarts excited, the emotions rushing around Michael like a storm. He wasn’t entirely sure why this merited so much excitement, since it was just another event.

Granted, it was an event that apparently hadn’t been held in a few centuries, but that wasn’t that long ago.

Wait…a few centuries  _was_  a long time for humans, even for wizards that lived longer than their non-magical counterparts.

“Could you participate in it?” Ernie demanded the moment they were in a relatively private space.

Michael stared at him. “ _Why_?” he asked slowly.

“So you could!”

That didn’t answer Michael’s question of  _why_. In hopes that Ernie would give him an answer, he continued staring.

“You’re not signing him up for it!” Susan hissed, smacking Ernie in the shoulder. “For once Wayne’s making sense!”

Michael shifted his stare to Susan, mildly insulted. “For once?”

Susan ignored him. “Besides, don’t you know how dangerous it is? There’s a reason they stopped holding these tournaments!”

“They’re bringing it back, aren’t they?” Ernie pointed out. “That means it’s not going to be as dangerous as before. Be _sides_ , this is  _Wayne_  we’re talking about.”

“I’m not signing up for this,” Michael said, unable to stop a hint of annoyance from creeping into his tone. “Regardless of how dangerous or not it may be.”

“Look,” Hannah added, voice calm, “they added an age limit for a reason, right? That means it’s still going to be dangerous. They just added more precautions. So let’s just…not.”

“We’re going to attract attention,” Justin said reasonably, gesturing vaguely to the fact that they were in a corner of the Common Room.

“No, we’re not,” Susan said automatically, then stopped to glance at Michael. “Right?”

It was vaguely flattering that Susan thought Michael kept a lid on all their conversations, even if it wasn’t true. In lieu of a verbal answer, he shrugged.

It seemed the topic was dropped until they were getting into bed and Ernie leaned over the space between his and Michael’s to whisper, “But you  _could_  do it?”

Michael didn’t regret putting two fingers to Ernie’s head and pushing him into sleep.

* * *

The start of term was always rather interesting, more because Hogwarts simply didn’t know how to be normal. Michael had been human first year, adjusting to different relationships second year, somewhere warm during third year to avoid the Dementors, and this year people were talking about the tournament and Moody.

…And perhaps not in that order.

Either way, the term looked to be interesting again. And a great deal warmer now that the Dementors were no longer on the grounds. Michael wasn’t sure what he would have done if the Ministry had insisted on keeping them here for another year.

Probably something mildly explosive.

His friends were also much happier for not having the oppressive gloom and cold of the Dementors hanging over their heads and on the grounds. It meant they could go out and enjoy the sunshine at the lake, enjoying the lull before classes really started picking up.

“We have OWLs next year,” Ernie moaned, draping an arm over his face to hide it from the sun. “ _Next year_. Why is McGonagall acting like they’re  _this_  year?”

There was a grunt of commiseration from Neville, who was lying on his stomach with his face in the grass.

“So we’re prepared?” Susan suggested.

“ _We_  don’t have OWLs,” Ginny said smugly, fingers running through the grass.

“You’ll have them in two years,” Justin told her. “Laugh while you can.”

“I intend to,” Ginny said cheerfully, grinning broadly.

Michael had no idea what he would be doing for these OWLs, since he wasn’t that invested in studying. It wasn’t like these exams would be useful for him, and he had no intention of taking a job in this world.

To be honest, he hadn’t even thought that far ahead.

He wasn’t even looking forward to Moody’s classes the way his friends were. It was now common knowledge that Moody was a retired Auror who knew his stuff, so everyone was eager to see what he’d be doing in his classes. Michael had seen him a few times around the castle, that distinctive dark tinge to his soul making it nigh impossible for Michael to ignore him, and he wasn’t looking forward to an entire class period with him.

Malfoy was still avoiding him, but Michael had seen him shooting looks his way. Hannah had suggested that maybe Malfoy was gathering his courage for an apology, only for Ernie and Justin to both insist Malfoy never apologized. Susan had just asked if there was a possibility of another package of sweets as a metaphorical apology, since the last one had been so nice.

Ten minutes into them arguing over whether or not Malfoy would poison the hypothetical apology package, Michael had left for saner pastures. Ginny and Luna had welcomed him and immediately started grilling him on homework.

The distraction had been welcome for however long it lasted, but Michael still couldn’t help but think about Malfoy. As odd as it was, he’d gotten used to having the boy around, no matter how childish or cruel he could be. It was a different type of relationship than what he had with his other friends, and he wasn’t sure if he missed it or not.

The fact that Hogwarts wasn’t really  _that_  big and he kept running into Malfoy at certain points didn’t make it easier. Especially since Malfoy clearly still enjoyed taunting Potter and his friends.

It wasn’t even very  _Slytherin_  of him to do so in public like this, where anyone could see what was happening. And everyone  _did_  see, because they were moving through the hallways to get to the Great Hall, and it wasn’t exactly private.

So Malfoy’s attempt to curse Potter in public was entirely unexpected, as was Moody turning Malfoy into a white ferret and proceeding to bounce him up and down, uncaring of his visible terror.

There was faint shock from the others, but it was followed quickly by amusement and the faint sense of  _he got what he deserved_.

But – justice,  _justice_  – this wasn’t  _justice_. This was… _cruelty_.

Moody wasn’t doing this because he  _cared_  for Potter, no matter what he was saying right now. He was doing this because he hated Malfoy, he hated Malfoy’s father, and he was going to take it out on the pompous brat who thought he was untouchable because of  _Daddy_.

Cold snapped through Michael, numbing and brutal, freezing his core with the cruel reminder of another realm.

He’d done the wrong thing, then –  _failed_. He wasn’t going to let it happen again.

Michael wasn’t aware that he’d snapped the spell Moody had on Malfoy until Ernie hissed “ _Your wand_ ” and he let it come to his hand without another thought.

Malfoy was on the floor, shivering and whimpering with fright, eyes wide. He was looking at Moody, who was looking at Michael now with an ugly expression on his scarred face.

“You have something to say, boy?” Moody demanded, his magical eye swiveling in its socket to glare at Michael.

There were multiple gulps from his friends, along with shuffling as they subtly moved behind Michael. He wanted to move in front of Malfoy, but it was better this way, with Moody turning his attention to  _him_.

“Performing magic in the corridors isn’t legal,” Michael said finally, voice even. It was a rule Dumbledore kept reiterating every year, even if it was ignored.

“You think the rules apply to me?” Moody’s voice was a low growl.

Michael felt his friends flinch at the tone. “Yes.”

“Your wand is still up,” Hannah moaned softly, quietly enough Moody didn’t hear. “Against a  _professor_.”

Better he had an excuse for performing “magical” feats. Michael didn’t drop the useless stick, but he did twitch the tip down slightly from its stance.

Potter and his friends were staring incredulously at Michael, Weasley with his mouth slightly open in shock and Potter clearly scandalized. Everyone else was staring, too, he realized now. Even Malfoy was, eyes flickering between Michael and Moody like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“What on  _earth_  is going on here?” McGonagall’s voice snapped the others to attention. She whirled onto the scene seconds later, a stack of books in her arms, a mixture of furious and scandalized. “Mr. Hopkins! Explain yourself!”

As McGonagall was now between him and Moody, Michael let his wrist fully relax, hiding his wand in the folds of his robes. “Of course, Professor,” he said smoothly. “Professor Moody transfigured Malfoy into a ferret. I turned him back.”

“Turned him—” McGonagall seemed to realize that Malfoy was still sprawled on the floor, his appearance not as neat as it usually was. “You  _transfigured_  a  _student_? Moody, we  _never_  use Transfiguration as a punishment!” She sounded a little weak as she said that. “Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?”

Moody didn’t seem concerned. “He might’ve mentioned it, yeah, but I thought a good sharp shock—”

“We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender’s Head of House!” McGonagall sounded utterly scandalized. “We certainly do not  _transfigure them_!”

Moody didn’t seem impressed. “I’ll do that, too, then.” He eyed a cringing Malfoy with great dislike.

After a moment, Malfoy got to his feet, wincing all the while. He glared at the floor, muttering something about his father.

“Oh yeah?” Moody limped closer, his wooden leg clunking loudly in the hall. “Well, I know your father of old, boy… You tell him Moody’s keeping a close eye on his son…you tell him that from me… Now, your Head of House’ll be Snape, will it?”

Malfoy took another moment to respond, tone resentful. “Yes.”

Moody’s grin wasn’t pretty. “Another old friend. I’ve been looking forward to a chat with old Snape… Come on, you…” He seized Malfoy’s arm, who refused to meet Michael’s eyes, and hauled him off.

“Mr. Hopkins.” McGonagall’s sharp voice drew Michael’s attention back. “While your quick action is appreciated, drawing a wand on a professor is less so.”

“I wasn’t going to let him do that,” Michael said evenly. “It doesn’t matter if he’s a professor. Whatever Malfoy did, that punishment wasn’t appropriate.”

“He was about to curse me,” Potter protested loudly. “You saw him!”

Michael raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t think that merited him being transfigured into a ferret and almost injured.”

There was discreet shuffling as his friends inched away, though they didn’t move far.

Giving Michael an assessing look, McGonagall let out a small sigh, softening slightly. “Be that as it may, Mr. Hopkins, in future please notify the appropriate authorities. Five points from Hufflepuff; in light of the circumstances, I don’t think detention will be necessary.”

Potter looked like he wanted to protest again, but stopped himself. He let his friends draw him into the Great Hall, each of them shooting Michael looks over their shoulders.

Michael didn’t say anything else, inclining his head in acknowledgment. McGonagall eyed him for a few moments longer before shooing everyone off and leaving, books still in her arms.

It wasn’t until she was entirely gone from the scene that his friends started dragging him to a secluded corner, hissing all the while.

“Are you  _mad_?” Susan demanded, just next to Ernie. “You know who Moody  _is_ , don’t you?”

“I don’t see why it matters.”

“You stuck your neck out like that for _Malfoy_ ,” Justin said incredulously on Michael’s left side. “ _Malfoy_. What in blazes led you to do that?”

“He wasn’t doing it because Malfoy drew a wand on Potter,” Michael said, letting them shuffle him behind a statue. “That was an excuse. He was… _enjoying_  it.”

“You just…” Susan waved her hand. “I don’t even know what you did, but suddenly Malfoy wasn’t a ferret anymore.”

Michael lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. “Thanks for the reminder about the wand,” he told Ernie.

“Er…yeah.” Ernie let out a sigh, shoulders slumping. “So…you and Malfoy aren’t friends?” He grinned weakly.

“I…” Michael looked down at his feet.

“You can figure it out,” Hannah said reassuringly, patting his arm. “He might talk to you now!”

“That’s true,” Ernie conceded after a moment’s thought. “If only to acknowledge that you saved his sorry behind.”

“You’re joking, right?” Susan made a face. “Malfoy wouldn’t thank him!”

“He’s got that roundabout way of thanking people,” Ernie said. “Like…” He affected a posh tone that wasn’t too far off from his normal one. “‘I appreciate you stepping in for me there, mate. Greatly appreciated, mate. Tell you what…you ever need something done, shoot me a letter, eh?’”

Michael frowned. “‘Mate’?”

“Not like  _that_ , obviously!” Ernie waved a dismissive hand. “But you know!”

“It sounds a bit like him,” Justin admitted.

“ _Awfully_  like him,” Susan said, staring at Ernie. “Don’t speak like that again.”

“I thought it was a rather good impression,” Hannah said after a moment. “But…” She shot Michael a glance. “Moody looked awfully cross…”

“It doesn’t matter.” Michael leaned back against the statue. “That wasn’t the right thing to do.”

And he wasn’t going to stand for it. Whether or not Malfoy was a friend.

* * *

They had a class with Moody before Malfoy sought Michael out.

Despite himself, Michael found himself actually intrigued by what Moody was teaching about the Unforgiveable Curses. That the man actually  _demonstrated_  them was even more interesting, especially since Zacharias pointed out that casting the curses was illegal according to the Ministry.

The Imperius and Cruciatus curses weren’t quite as interesting as the Killing Curse, but that was because mind control and pain were easy enough to inflict. But something that killed with only two words and didn’t leave a mark? Something that literally severed the tie between the soul and the body?

That was  _interesting_.

As far as Michael could discern from what he’d gathered in class, the curse acted similarly to Death’s scythe with how it severed the soul from the body. There wasn’t any coming back from that unless something more powerful intervened, and the little soul of the spider that Moody had used quickly dissipated with a wave of its legs.

The class was subdued after that particular demonstration, especially once Moody explained more about how the curses worked.

Michael didn’t make it a habit to read people’s minds because of the sheer banality of their thoughts, but the sheer venom and hate in Moody’s were difficult to ignore. Even Snape’s thoughts weren’t quite as dark.

He found it difficult to believe that Dumbledore would actually hire a man with literal thoughts of murder on his mind. But then Dumbledore had also apparently hired a man supporting a Dark Lord and a complete fraud, so maybe Michael was missing something.

Humans did have that saying about keeping enemies close, didn’t they?

So maybe there was a reason for Dumbledore to hire what Michael was suspecting to be a vile murderer, but Michael didn’t want anything to do with that beyond one thing.

“Don’t let yourself be alone with him,” Michael said after class, cutting off the excited conversation between Ernie and Justin.

“What?” Susan sounded flabbergasted, blinking at him. “Why? Aunt Amelia says he’s one of the best Aurors the Ministry’s ever had! I mean, he’s rather barmy, but all the good ones supposedly are.”

“He’s dangerous.”

“So are you,” Hannah pointed out. “But we’re still friends with you.”

“His thoughts…” Michael glanced back at the closed classroom door, feeling the darkness clinging to his soul. “He might have been a good man once, but he isn’t anymore.” He looked at his friends. “Watch yourself around him.”

Justin shared a look with Ernie before turning to Michael. “Okay, Michael.” The words were quiet. “Sounds like the buddy system’s a good idea here.”

Ernie stared blankly at him. “The what?”

“You seriously never heard of the buddy system?”

“It must be a Muggle thing,” Susan said, sounding just as confused. “Is it a system where everyone has a buddy?”

“So no one’s alone,” Hannah confirmed, nodding. “Ginny and Luna haven’t had classes with him yet, have they?”

Ernie tilted his head. “Tomorrow, maybe?”

Which gave them enough time to talk to them. It wasn’t as if Moody would do anything in class itself, but it reassured Michael to know that they would be alert for anything suspicious.

Although it seemed that Luna was already on guard, since her only reaction to the news was, “So that’s why nothing wants to go near him. He’s so dark.”

“Ron’s going to be disappointed,” was Ginny’s response. “He was raving about Moody’s class after it was over, but Hermione shut him up before he could reveal anything. Think you can spill?”

There had been no spilling much to Ginny’s regret, but there had been a promise that the class was interesting, followed with another promise for a study session out by the lake that weekend if the weather was good.

Michael suspected there’d be less studying and more lounging, but that didn’t really matter. He was a little more concerned with how Neville had looked, white and clutching a book in his hands.

Once the others were somewhat distracted with discussing Hagrid’s class, Michael asked him what was wrong.

Neville jumped slightly, eyes dropping to his book. “I…” He swallowed. “H-he held me back after class… I…wasn’t feeling too good.” He smiled weakly, clearly unwilling to elaborate further. “If he weren’t nice…would he do that?”

Michael considered his response. He didn’t want to be too blunt, not with how Neville was looking. “Humans have different sides to them,” he said eventually. “He’s dangerous, but…that doesn’t mean he can’t do something kind.” Even if it was only to keep his image.

Neville looked relieved. “So the book’s safe?”

Michael smiled unthinkingly, amused. “The book’s safe.”

“Okay, thanks.” Neville nodded, clutching the book closer. “I’ll be careful.”

It was doubtful that Moody would try anything during normal hours, so Michael was perhaps being a little paranoid, but it was better safe than sorry. He didn’t know what he could do if something happened to them. If they were injured, healing them was of no consequence. But death?

Michael had yet to figure out where the departed souls went in this realm.

There certainly weren’t any visible reapers, so it had to be a little more abstract than that, and he wasn’t going to call Death to ask.

* * *

Michael was alone when Malfoy found him.

He knew this was intentional, largely because he’d made it so by telling the others and also because Malfoy had been wandering around on the fringes for the last few days. He’d obviously not wanted an audience, and Michael was willing to indulge him.

“Why did you do that?” Malfoy demanded from behind Michael.

Slowly turning to face Malfoy, Michael tucked his Herbology book under his arm. “Why did I do what?”

Malfoy scowled. “You’re not stupid, Hopkins.”

Michael raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “There are a lot of things I did. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Malfoy’s nostrils flared. “Moody!”

Michael let his breath out in a soft exhalation. “Regardless of what you were planning on doing to Potter, what Moody did wasn’t right. He used it as an excuse, not because he wanted to spare Potter.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do.”

“You—” Malfoy cut himself off, eyes narrowing. “How would you even know that?” he asked instead. “You…are you a  _Legilimens_?”

The word was unfamiliar to Michael, but judging from Malfoy’s tone and the context… Some sort of mind reader?

“Yes,” Michael said finally.

Malfoy’s eyes widened. “Are you looking at my thoughts right now?” He sounded panicked.

“I don’t have a reason to,” Michael said honestly. After a moment, he decided to add, “It usually happens by accident.” It was true enough, since he didn’t make it a habit to read humans’ minds. They usually threw it at him with all the subtlety of a boulder.

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Malfoy said warily.

Michael just shrugged, fingers stroking lightly over his book cover. “Did you come here just to demand my motives, or is there anything else?”

“You still haven’t told me why,” Malfoy said imperiously, sticking his chin out. “No one else stepped in, and your friends all looked like they would rather run away. So why did you do it?”

“It wasn’t right.”

Malfoy huffed. “What are you expecting? My eternal thanks? A favor?  _What_ , Hopkins?”

Michael frowned. “Why would I even want anything?”

“No one just  _does_  something like that,” Malfoy insisted. “We’re not even friends! Not after—” He broke off, scowling darkly.

“We had an argument.” Michael kept his tone gentle. “I wanted to give you space and time to make your own decision.”

Malfoy’s scowl twisted into a disbelieving stare, his eyes narrowing as he squinted briefly. It cleared a second later as he huffed. “You’re  _ridiculous_. You sound like my  _mother_.”

Michael paused, uncertain as to whether that was a good or bad thing. His brief memories as a human suggested this wasn’t a compliment. “I assume she’s a reasonable woman?” he offered eventually.

Malfoy made a disgusted noise. “Ugh, that isn’t the  _point_! Why are you so – so—”

Tilting his head, Michael really couldn’t resist saying, “Like your mother?”

“ _No_!” Malfoy snapped. “Why do you have to be so  _nice_?!” An instant after he blurted the words, Malfoy stopped, a horrified expression crossing his face.

“I’m not really nice,” Michael said after a moment, trying to alleviate the clear embarrassment Malfoy was feeling.

“I would hate to see what you think being nice is, then.” Malfoy squared his shoulders, setting his jaw. When he spoke again, his voice was formal. “I wanted to thank you for your earlier actions—”

Michael stared, disbelieving. “Ernie does sound like you…”

“—and would like to extend – what?” Malfoy broke off, sounding scandalized. “Since when does Macmillan sound like me?”

Ah, Michael hadn’t intended on letting that slip… “When he’s formal as well.” He continued speaking before Malfoy could interrupt, “There’s no thanks needed. Regardless of what you did, he had no right to do that.”

“We weren’t even speaking,” Malfoy said, stilted. “Yet you still… I don’t understand, Hopkins. Why would you do that?”

Malfoy didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t have to for Michael to understand what he wasn’t saying.

And, well…Michael didn’t really have an easy answer. He’d interfered because what Moody had done  _wasn’t_  right – wasn’t justice – but the sheer fury he’d felt at the time hadn’t been impartial. That had been all too personal.

Heavens above, his friends were right.

“Friends have disagreements, don’t they?” Michael said finally, meeting Malfoy’s eyes with a small smile. “But they’re still friends.”

“You think we’re friends?”

This time the answer came easily, without hesitation. “Yes.”

“Slytherins don’t  _have_  friends.”

Michael glanced down at his uniform and the distinct lack of green on his person. “I wasn’t aware I was a Slytherin.”

Malfoy – or Draco, really, if Michael was going to do this all the way – opened his mouth, only to shut it with a torn expression. Michael wasn’t even listening but still heard the unspoken  _Malfoys don’t have friends_.

Since Draco was already somewhat aware of Michael’s ability to read thoughts, Michael took the initiative to touch his shoulder with a gentle hand. “You do, Draco. I may not be happy with some of the choices you make or how you act, but you’re still my friend.”

Draco stared in confusion at the hand on his shoulder. “It’s Draco now, is it?” he said eventually, the words tense.

“Yes.” Michael left no room for argument.

Pulling away from Michael’s touch, Draco folded his arms across his chest, sneering. “As long as you don’t expect me to buy into that rubbish you keep trying to sell.”

“I don’t—” Michael broke off, sighing. “I can’t force you,” he continued after meeting Draco’s eyes calmly. He wasn’t a human child that could be scared off by a few insults. “That wouldn’t be right. But I can disapprove. Simply because they’re different doesn’t mean they don’t deserve equal care. Maybe they don’t see the world as you do, but they still feel as you do and have their own desires.”

“Right.” Draco scoffed.

“As I said, I can’t force you to believe what you don’t want to.” Such was the beauty and ugliness of free will. “Of course…” Michael raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t mean you can use that kind of language around me.”

Draco’s answer was slower this time. “…Right.”

“Good.” Michael extended his hand, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a small smile. “Friends?”

There was a slight hesitation, but Draco clasped his hand in turn, his answering smile warier than Michael would have liked. “Friends.”

* * *

Things returned to a sort of normality over the next several weeks.

Or what Michael supposed was “normal” for Hogwarts. There was still a great deal of gossiping and speculation on the Triwizard Tournament. There were also excited conversations about Moody’s lessons, which Michael found boring.

Even with Moody staring daggers into Michael’s face every time they were in the same room together.

It would probably have been more intimidating if Michael had been an actual fourteen-year-old human. As it was, he indulged himself by staring back until Moody broke the staring contest.

From the whispering between Ernie and Justin, there was apparently some sort of bet going on in the Hufflepuff dorm that involved him and Moody and eyeballs. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know and didn’t make an effort at finding out.

But things were relatively normal. More so than they had been at the beginning of the term and at the end of the last one, largely because Draco was speaking with him again. He had – much to Susan’s disappointment – not sent another apology package filled with sweets. But Draco had otherwise helped by once again joining in on their study sessions, contributing his notes from last year and this year.

It was entirely unexpected, and Draco said nothing about the extra notes he provided at the first session he sat in on after reconciling with Michael. By mutual agreement, nobody else did either.

There were few safe topics for his friends to talk about, but one thing they did seem to enjoy speculating about was the tournament. After some pushing, Draco admitted he didn’t know all that much because his father had been unusually cagey in regards to giving information.

So when the news came about the other schools coming on the thirtieth of October, there was a general air of excitement that buzzed throughout the castle.

Michael hadn’t even  _known_  about there being other magical schools. Although perhaps he should have…

It wasn’t as if the magical community was only isolated to Great Britain. He’d seen other wizards and witches on his excursions to other countries.

There wasn’t a great deal of information on the other schools either, magical schools apparently being notoriously close-lipped about what they did. Aside from teach magic that was.

From what Draco said, apparently Durmstrang taught more Dark Arts than Hogwarts did, and his father had wanted to send Draco there but his mother had found the uniforms too tacky and the school too far away.

Ernie had rather sincerely said it was rather sad that Draco hadn’t gone; it would have made Hogwarts’s environment much nicer. Also, Draco would have looked lovely in those uniforms.

Luna had rather earnestly said it was a good thing Draco was not at Durmstrang – he would have been eaten by the Headmaster’s pet howling dogs.

The conversation ended there, no one wanting to get into it with Luna.

Michael was left to make his own opinions on Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, which became possible on the thirtieth when they both made a rather showy entrance. Flying horses and a ship appearing from the middle of the lake were involved.

Michael wondered if the giant squid had any protests about its living space being used as a doorway. He then asked himself why he was even wondering about the giant squid’s concerns.

The welcoming feast went well, although there appeared to be a general air of smugness radiating from the Slytherin table because they had the Durmstrang students. Michael ignored the byplay and the excited chattering over some Quidditch player and a pretty female to study the new Headmasters.

The Beauxbatons’s Headmistress was a striking half-giant. Durmstrang’s was not particularly striking except for how he carried the same dark aura as Snape and Moody. It was an aura not carried by his students except for one, and that student didn’t seem as involved with his fellow classmates.

They wouldn’t be involved with Hogwarts beyond whatever needed to be done for the tournament, so Michael didn’t much care about studying them further beyond making a note to keep an eye on the Durmstrang Headmaster.

It concerned him that there were now three people of the same kind of darkness in Hogwarts. Snape was one matter given that his darkness was lesser, but Moody and Karkaroff were both steeped in it.

But as it seemed no one else was worried about it, Michael resolved to shelve the matter for another day. Moody hadn’t done anything beyond turning Draco into a ferret, and Michael wasn’t about to stop keeping an eye on him.

In the meantime, he would watch and see how this tournament played out. It might serve as some kind of amusement.

* * *

Well, Michael wasn’t entirely sure if this would constitute as  _amusement_. Rather, he thought it was kind of pitiful.

How many times did Potter have to be thrown to the wolves before Fate would be satisfied?

Not only was Potter looking rather panicked and upset about having his name be spat out by the Goblet, so was the rest of Hogwarts. Albeit for rather petty reasons that had Michael wanting to nurse a headache that archangels couldn’t get.

They were upset because Potter being chosen slighted Cedric Diggory, who had been chosen first. They thought that Potter wanted the fame and glory of being Champion, apparently being blind to the fact that Potter looked a bit like he wanted to dive into the lake to escape from it all.

Even his Hufflepuff friends were upset, grumbling about Potter being unable to stay in the background.

Michael wasn’t sure what to think of Diggory, only that he’d had few interactions with the Hufflepuff prefect. The boy was nice, kind to the younger children, and fair to a point. He also hadn’t said much about the House’s distaste towards Potter, only raising small protests about the affair that had gone ignored.

What was perhaps even more amazing and unexpected was how it drew Draco and the other Hufflepuffs together.

“Do you want a badge?” Draco asked Ernie the next afternoon. “It’s your House being snubbed after all.”

“What kind of badge?” Ernie said suspiciously.

Draco pulled one out of his robes to show Ernie. It read SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY – THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION in red letters. When Draco pressed against it, the words changed to POTTER STINKS, which glowed green.

Michael was rather starkly reminded of the fact that he was surrounded by children. That he had chosen to  _befriend_  these children. Or, rather, that he had let them befriend him.

He wondered why.

“Oh, that’s a nifty charm,” Justin said admiringly.

Draco looked pleased. “It was simple enough,” he said, tone dismissive. “Would you like one, too?”

“It seems a bit mean, doesn’t it?” Hannah sounded hesitant.

“I’ll tell you what was mean,” Ernie said, taking the badge Draco proffered. “What was mean was Potter putting his name in the Goblet without telling anyone else how he managed it and  _then_  getting chosen as a fourth champion. We barely get any acknowledgement as it is. He just had to take it this year, too!”

“I don’t think Harry did anything,” Ginny said stiffly, frowning. She cast the badge a dark glower. “And that’s not just mean – that’s  _dirty_.”

“Just because you like Harry doesn’t mean he’s perfect,” Susan said.

Ginny’s frown deepened. “Of course I like Harry! He’s nice, even if a bit dense at times. But I know he didn’t put his name in the Goblet! Even if Ron’s too big of an idiot to believe him.”

“You don’t have to share a  _dorm_  with them,” Neville moaned, head in his hands. “It’s the  _worst_. They’re not even speaking to each other anymore, and it’s only been a day!”

Draco hesitated, then offered Neville a badge.

“No.” Neville’s answer was short. “Harry’s my friend. I’m not going to start wearing that.”

Well, maybe not all his friends were so childish.

But he’d honestly thought better of Susan.

When no one else protested Ernie, Justin, Susan, and Hannah taking the badges Draco had brought, Michael decided enough was enough. He would’ve just let it slide, but how could he let himself associate with this level of stupidity?

And if he let it just go, soon enough his friends would ask him his opinion. No, it was better to just head it off at the pass.

And maybe give Potter some relief. The boy deserved it.

“This is ridiculous,” Michael said flatly.

“I know you don’t have any sense of House pride,” Ernie said, puffing up indignantly, “but let  _us_  have some at least!”

“This doesn’t have a thing to do with House pride,” Michael said. “Or if it does, it’s so shortsighted I can’t see it since Draco made the badges, not you.” He turned to Draco. “I hope you haven’t handed those badges out to anyone else. What do you think the other schools are going to think once they see how divided Hogwarts is?”

Draco’s mouth twisted. “They should see that we’re not just going to take Potter sneaking his way into the tournament lightly!”

“Really?” Michael picked a badge up, pressing on it so that POTTER STINKS was flashing at everyone. “This doesn’t seem like a reasonable statement; it’s something a child would come up with. I wasn’t aware you were a child, Draco.”

Draco’s cheeks flushed. “I’m not a child!”

“Then stop acting like one.” Michael dropped the badge back into the pile with a small  _plink_. “If you want to continue with this, then do so, but I refuse to be a part of this.”

Ginny stopped him from standing with a hand on his arm. “Do  _you_  think Harry put his name in the Goblet?” There was something meaningful in her tone.

Even Draco was listening, although all he knew of Michael was that he could read minds.

“I know he didn’t,” Michael answered evenly. “Anyone who was watching him last night would have known. So the question isn’t if Potter put his name into the Goblet – it’s  _who_  did do so.”

“And do you know?” Draco demanded.

“I don’t.” Michael did stand now, picking up the textbook he had been reading before Draco had introduced his ridiculous badges. “But I have no doubt they’ll reveal themselves at some point.”

Those types of humans always did.

* * *

The badges did not make a showing on his friends. Or on Draco.

Unfortunately, the rest of Hufflepuff received their badges from other Slytherins, and Potter was subjected to them after all. Although it did appear that the badges were malfunctioning and were only showing a union of red-gold and yellow-black.

There was no comment from Draco on the matter, but he did look rather shifty every time complaints were brought up in his presence.

Michael, on the other hand, was accosted by Ginny.

“But  _could_  you find out who it was?” she demanded to know, blocking the pages of Michael’s positively scintillating reading material with both hands. He’d been defacing the pages with his notes; Pince was going to be screaming for someone’s head when she noticed.

Sighing, Michael looked up at her, blinking slowly. “I suppose. If I wanted to rifle through the minds of every human here.” Or he could just peek back in time, but he didn’t really want to put that much effort into it. He’d checked that Potter would be fine; the boy was unusually lucky.

His statement gave Ginny pause, her brow furrowing. “Oh. Does that mean you don’t want to?”

“I usually don’t,” Michael said dryly. “None of us do, except for those of us who are particularly nosy. It would be a bit like you continually looking through people’s clothes to see how they looked like underneath. Occasionally interesting, but usually boring and mostly disgusting.”

“Ugh.” Ginny made a face. “Thanks for the image.” She paused, then said, “Do you really not like our bodies?”

“They’re functional enough.” Michael still resented the fact that he had to manipulate this body’s hormones to be able to grow normally. At this point it was second nature to do so, but it was so  _tedious_.

Ginny blinked, then mouthed  _They’re functional enough_  like she couldn’t believe Michael had just said that.

After a moment, she said, “Sometimes I think you’re human, but then you go and say something like that. I did want to thank you for yesterday. I didn’t think anyone could put Malfoy in his place like that, but you did.”

“I didn’t.” Michael gently pushed Ginny’s hands off his book. “I pointed something out. It was up to him as to what he wanted to do.”

“Right, sure.” Ginny nodded, mouth twitching. “You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?”

The words were teasing, meant in jest, but they stung Michael all the same.

Still, he managed a light smile, showing a hint of teeth. “If you think so.”

* * *

Most of Michael’s existence had been based on knowing  _exactly_  what he was supposed to do and doing it. He was the eldest archangel, the Commander of the Heavenly Host. If he didn’t know what to do, who would?

Yes, he’d take suggestions and feedback from his fellow siblings, but that was all secondary to what he already  _knew_.

Or it had been.

Now Michael knew he really  _didn’t_  know what he was supposed to do. What he’d been supposed to do in his world. What he was supposed to do  _here_.

He’d stopped performing miracles since the incident with the Dementors last year, not seeing any use in continuing. It had been somewhat nice to do it, but he wasn’t sure what he was accomplishing with it beyond fulfilling some kind of human notion of what angels  _should_  do.

Maybe angels should perform miracles, but Michael’s job had always been something larger.

He didn’t do humans.

Even if he’d had to over the millennia after Gabriel left. He’d improved, but there were still moments where he faltered and didn’t know how to predict them.

Oh, he thought he’d gotten it down. He’d tried to predict the apocalypse, hadn’t he? Only to fail because he hadn’t taken into account just how  _unpredictable_  humans could be. He’d brushed it off, assuming that they could be brought to heel, only to be locked into Lucifer’s Cage.

Now, Michael was even more lost. And this time he wasn’t afraid to admit it to himself.

* * *

Matters at Hogwarts smoothed out over the next several months, especially after Potter successfully completed the First Task and Neville and Ginny stopped complaining about Weasley and Potter not getting along.

Then it started going insane again once the announcement of the Yule Ball was made.

Michael made the elective decision that he wasn’t going to go because  _ugh_. (Susan pointed out that “ _ugh_ ” wasn’t a reason. Michael left before anyone could press the point.)

Michael would definitely have continued to ignore all mention of the ball if it didn’t turn out that Neville had asked Ginny, Draco was going with Pansy and had issued Michael a mild threat that he’d better be there or else, Susan was going with Ernie, and Hannah with Justin. That left Luna, and she’d asked Michael rather cheerfully if he wouldn’t mind attending with her.

Feeling rather guilty about Luna being the only one who wouldn’t be able to go on account of being a third year, Michael had said yes. Any regrets about deciding to go vanished upon seeing how happy Luna was, although they cropped up again when Draco started pulling out plans for dress robes.

Michael had no idea that Draco had a sense of fashion.

Neither had anybody else, but no one made a fuss of it since no one wanted to be the one to rock that particular boat.

As it turned out, Draco’s sense of fashion extended to hair. Michael had no idea that his hair could be styled in so many different ways, but he came away more educated and with a sense of appreciation for humans’ design styles.

Maybe human bodies were a little better than “functional.” It wasn’t like he could style hair in his true form.

* * *

The Yule Ball ended up not being entirely awful. Michael had suffered through dancing lessons with the rest of his House with Sprout, but it had served the purpose of making sure that he didn’t step on Luna’s feet.

Then there was Draco, who abandoned Pansy for the latter half of the ball to stand by Michael and point out fashion disasters. He stayed away from poking fun at Potter’s friends, although Weasley’s robes looked sad enough that Michael would have expected at least  _something_.

As it turned out, it was Michael who couldn’t resist saying that Weasley’s robes seemed like someone had tried to cut something off the edges but done so badly.

Draco looked so delighted and stymied that Michael thought he knew how Gabriel (and Lucifer) had felt whenever he’d pulled one over on someone. It made him want to do so again, but he didn’t know what else he could say.

Potter vanished somewhat halfway through the ball as well, which Michael could sympathize with. He would have done so as well if not for Luna and Draco. His other friends were happily dancing, partaking in the hopefully non-alcoholic punch (he saw Fred and George sneaking around the table, Lee Jordan running distraction), and mingling with the others.

Pansy vanished, too, clearly fed up with Draco’s inattention and with a vague look of disgust in Michael’s direction. Draco didn’t even notice, although Justin did and sent Michael two thumbs up for some odd reason.

All in all, Michael had to admit it hadn’t been the worst decision to come to the Yule Ball.

* * *

There was an article on Hagrid the next day. It was written by Rita Skeeter, a name that sounded vaguely familiar to Michael until Ginny muttered something about “journalistic hacks who’ll do anything for publicity.” Then he recalled the article she’d written on Potter before the First Task, which had been in rather poor taste.

This article was in even worse taste. Especially since Pansy was quoted in it.

Michael was rather abruptly reminded of the conversation he’d had with Draco last year and earlier in the fall and glanced over to the Slytherin table. Draco looked a bit pale and didn’t seem to be saying anything, even though his companions were laughing and tossing the article around to be read.

“That’s odd,” Justin said when Michael turned away from Draco. “I would’ve thought Malfoy would be crowing about this, too.”

“Maybe he’s sick,” Ernie suggested.

“He does look a bit peaky,” Susan noted.

“Maybe he’s jealous he was unable to get a sound bite in?” Justin said.

Michael wasn’t entirely sure that was it, although it was certainly plausible.

But Draco sought him out later that day, quiet and withdrawn and well away from prying ears. No one liked the History of Magic section of the library.

“I didn’t realize,” Draco said, arms folded over his chest. He was studying his feet intently. “But he wasn’t at class today, and I haven’t seen him at meals.”

Michael thought he knew who Draco was talking about, but he asked anyway. “Who?”

“Hagrid,” Draco answered snappishly. He inhaled sharply. “I…I put some thought into what you said before,” he continued haltingly. “And…I don’t think you’re right about  _everything_.” He paused here, looking mulish. “But…you…might…have a point.”

If Michael were a more vindictive being, he could have pressed for Draco to really specify what he was talking about. But it was clear as day that Draco was  _trying_ , and that he didn’t want to be pushed more than he was already pushing himself.

And Michael  _could_  show mercy. “I’m glad,” he said quietly, giving Draco a small smile. “If you want to talk—”

“Ugh, no.” Draco brightened slightly, going to sit on the chair across from Michael. “Let’s talk about something more interesting. Like why you’re sitting in the History of Magic section. I thought only Granger came here.”

There was probably more that should be said, but one thing Michael had learned over the past few years was that some things needed to be pushed gently. So he let Draco change the subject, voices low so as not to attract the attention of Pince.

* * *

Considering how peaceful the last several months had been, with only some spurts of excitement now and then, Michael should have known that it wasn’t going to last. Since when had a single year ever been  _peaceful_  since he’d started going to Hogwarts?

At this point he should start keeping a calendar just so he wouldn’t be caught off guard.

No one else noticed it. Not with the only thing before them being a giant maze that had once been the Quidditch pitch. It was ridiculously boring, with many of the students beginning to drift off. There had only been sparks shot off twice, indicating the forfeit of Krum and Delacour.

It was just Diggory and Potter now, and Michael was getting a bad feeling.

The bad feeling only magnified when something seemed to  _pull_.

Michael’s breath froze in his chest, lungs ceasing to work altogether as he registered what had just happened.

Nature had just…been bent. Bent in a way that shouldn’t have happened.

Justin leaned in, shoulders brushing against Michael’s. “Wayne?” he murmured.

Michael didn’t answer,  _looking_  through the maze. There was no sign of Diggory or Potter. There was also no trophy in the center. And when he brushed closer, he could sense a type of magic that didn’t mesh with the rest of the maze.

Justin elbowed him, hissing, “You’re not  _breathing_ , Wayne.”

Breathing in sharply, Michael went to stand. “Something’s wrong.”

“What –  _Wayne_ —”

Ignoring the whispered questions the others were shooting at him, Michael edged past several more spectators before seeking out a shadowy corner and flying.

Magic left traces, and he could follow this one’s easily enough. It stank of Moody’s magic, which he was familiar enough with after months in the man’s classes.

It landed him in a cemetery.

Diggory’s body lay beside a tombstone. Potter was tied up to a much larger one. And in the middle of a circle of robed figures – that all carried an aura of darkness akin to Moody – was a pale-skinned man with red eyes, projecting an aura of such malevolence that Michael had to admit he was rather impressed.

There was no question as to who it was. He’d encountered a portion of that man’s soul before, and although it was even  _smaller_  now, there was no mistaking that disgusting presence.

Voldemort was alive.

Michael would put aside the questions for why and how later. For now he needed to figure out how to get Potter out without raising too many suspicious questions.

After a moment’s thought, he stuck some Grace around Potter that would give him more luck than usual, then caused the ropes to fray and snap apart. Turning his attention to the robed figures, he made them more sluggish than usual.

As for Voldemort…

Michael rather wanted to smite him and be done with it.

But was it his  _place_  to do so?

Voldemort was still human, no matter how twisted and strange his soul. He should be dealt with by humans.

It wasn’t the first time Michael had been faced with this conundrum, and he doubted it would be the last. And every time he struggled with the answer.

_Was_  there even an answer? How much should he interfere? He’d already given Potter a helping hand. The boy was dodging the others’ spell fire and Voldemort’s with remarkable aplomb.

Michael absentmindedly nudged Potter’s wand into reach, plucking it from Voldemort’s possession before the man could notice.

This much angels could do. Perform minor miracles, give a helping hand to those in need.

Anything more…

Fuck, Michael hated making decisions like this.

The Portkey still had some magic attached to it, so he planted a strong suggestion in Potter’s mind that he should grab the Portkey and leave. Only for Potter to dive for Diggory’s body first and then go for the Portkey. The two vanished in a swirl of magic, Voldemort screaming in rage after them.

Hesitating, Michael took one last look at the circle of robed wizards and the insane man cursing them all out before he decided. This was a human matter. He’d leave this for humans.

And he flew back to Hogwarts, arriving in the midst of pure pandemonium. Thankfully he’d decided to avoid landing in the Quidditch pitch, choosing instead a patch of grass that was clear of worried humans.

Michael observed the bedlam for a few minutes before deciding to steer clear of it entirely and go back to Hogwarts. His friends would find him when they wanted to.

Potter would be fine now.

* * *

“What happened?” Susan demanded. “You just left without a word, and then Potter comes back in with Cedric’s body! What  _happened_?”

Michael looked up from where he was seated by the fire, Dane curled in his lap. “Has no one said anything?”

He’d sensed a Dementor a short while ago but hadn’t gone near it, choosing to remain in the Common Room.

“I’m sure it’ll be all over the castle by morning,” Justin said, face pale despite his somewhat jovial tone. “But  _you_  were there, weren’t you?”

Michael dropped his gaze to where his fingers were in Dane’s fur. “Voldemort is back,” he said quietly.

There was no response from them, simply a stunned horror and disbelief that hit Michael with a punch.

“You’re joking,” Ernie said weakly. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Michael shook his head slightly, eyes still on Dane.

“Bloody hell.” Ernie slumped to the floor by the closest armchair with a loud thud. “ _Shit_. That’s why Cedric’s dead, then.”

There was a choked sob from Hannah, which seemed to break the dam since she burst into tears immediately afterwards, turning into Susan. Susan was also crying.

“Did you kill him?” Justin asked, voice wavering. “You-Know-Who?”

Michael did look up now, voice flat as he answered. “No.”

“You…didn’t?” Justin sounded confused. “Why not? That’s – isn’t that your  _job_? Getting rid of evil?”

Michael resisted the human urge to rub a hand over his face, settling for digging his fingers into the carpet. “It isn’t. Not the way you think.”

“Then  _tell me_  what is!” Justin snapped. “Because you could have killed him!”

“I could have,” Michael said, staring sharply at Justin, “but then what would you have learned? What would  _any_  of you learn if I stepped in every time danger rises? Voldemort is human; if he were a demon, if he were  _anything else_ , then I would have interfered as is my place. But he isn’t. I helped as much as I could, giving Potter a way out if he took that initiative. And he did.” He looked between each of his friends. “Anything more falls to the people who usually deal with men like Voldemort.”

A muscle twitched in Justin’s jaw, but he didn’t say anything more.

Susan did, voice thick. “You say that, Michael, but you stepped in two years ago to deal with the basilisk. Even though you said it’d be  _handled_. Only you went and handled it yourself because you changed your mind. Now you’re doing the same thing here, pushing it onto  _us_  to take care of.”

Anger swirled in Michael’s chest. “Don’t speak of things you don’t understand—”

“I  _understand_ , Michael,” Susan snapped, biting his name out. “You just don’t want to deal with it. Maybe we’re missing something, but you’ve never bothered explaining why. Because we’re  _human_? Because we’re incapable of comprehending?” She paused, eyes flashing furiously. “I think you’ll find that we’re capable of a lot more than you think.”

“Susan—” Hannah protested.

“No, Hannah, I’m  _right_.” Susan wiped her face with a hand, rubbing at her eyes. “Maybe You-Know-Who  _is_  something for us  _humans_  to deal with, but that’s just an excuse. And I’m done with excuses.”

Anger burned hotly in him, and Michael had to close his eyes as he inhaled reflexively. After a moment, he lifted Dane off and put him to the side and stood, meeting Susan’s eyes.

He wasn’t entirely sure what was on his face, but Hannah flinched. Susan didn’t, although her eyes tightened.

“Call it an excuse all you will,” Michael said softly. “I won’t explain myself to you. I know you’re grieving a loss, that you’re angry and frightened.”

Susan narrowed her eyes. “Do you think so? How  _generous_  of you.”

Michael ignored her bitter tone. She didn’t  _understand_. None of them could.

Keeping his voice even, he continued. “Voldemort will be taken care of, but I will not go and seek him out. That is not my job, no matter how much you plead.” He looked past them to the other Hufflepuffs, who were quietly morose, with many sobbing or staring into space. “Now, I think it’s time to finish this. If you want to speak again, you know how to find me.”

Michael moved before they could say anything else, reappearing somewhere quiet and far from Hogwarts. Anger still simmered in him, hot and bright and everything Michael didn’t need.

There was no reason for Susan’s words to have hit so hard. There wasn’t.

It wasn’t Michael’s  _job_  to take care of Voldemort. It wasn’t his  _job_  to take care of every threat that came here. Especially not a  _human_  that other humans could deal with.

What his job was…what his  _role_  was…

Michael had no fucking clue.

And it terrified him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was it worth the wait?
> 
> If Michael is coming off as an ass towards the end of this, that's entirely intentional. Michael can be an ass. He's traumatized, been through his own shit, but he's still an ass. And he's an ass who's struggling desperately and is terribly unsure of what he's supposed to be doing. So he's trying to cling to what he knows, even as he's also trying to figure out what he's _supposed_ to do now. Unfortunately, the two aren't meshing together very well. (This is also _because_ he is traumatized. Not an excuse, but a reason.)
> 
> Also! Draco! They reconciled after the argument last chapter. And I hope in a way that was satisfying. Draco's also learning, and there's a lot going on that hasn't been shown because this isn't from Draco's POV. If it was, there'd be a lot of angry internal muttering and a huge dilemma as he's trying to figure out what he believes and WHY he believes it. I'm hoping some of it is coming across. Keep in mind that I've smooshed an entire year into a 14,000 word chapter, so lots of things are happening in a short space of time.
> 
> WE'RE GETTING INTO THE FUN STUFF NOW. *does not think about how fifth year hasn't even been started yet*
> 
> Drop a note please?
> 
> [The blog](http://thelastarchangelaskblog.tumblr.com) for this series will have the most recent updates and news!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Last Archangel: First Born](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7442902) by [TouchoftheWind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TouchoftheWind/pseuds/TouchoftheWind)




End file.
